Too Good To Be True
by Sweet Little Mary Sue
Summary: Let's pretend that Tuck and FDR had a partner named Frankie, and she was like a sister to them, until the day that an instance of violence showed Tuck that she was more than that to him, a moment that made him see that he loved her in ways that he had never acknowledged until that moment, ways that he couldn't ignore any longer…Tuck/OFC.
1. Chapter One

Too Good To Be True

Sweet Little Mary Sue

Synopsis: Let's pretend that Tuck and FDR had a partner named Frankie, and she was like a sister to them, until the day that an instance of violence showed Tuck that she was more than that to him, a moment that made him see that he loved her in ways that he had never acknowledged until that moment, ways that he couldn't ignore any longer…in ways that she understood perfectly, because her heart had always been his for the taking. How will this budding romance affect their work environment, and will Tuck be able to keep his emotions on the back burner when a dangerous man reappears on the scene and makes it known that Frankie is in his line of sight?

Disclaimer: I cannot claim ownership of any part of _This Means War_. I'm just borrowing Tuck and FDR for this story that I want to tell. The only things that belong to me are the plot for this work of fanfiction, my OC, Frankie, and anyone else that she brings along when she comes around to play with the boys.

Just So You Know: This story takes place two years after the movie ended. FDR is married to Lauren, Tuck never married Katie a second time, and Frankie has been working with both of them for a year and a half.

Reader Advisory: This story is rated **M** for violence, mild to moderate cursing, and a variety of smuttiness, both limes and lemons.

Chapter One

_Flashback, Paris, France, four months ago_

Frankie's POV

Damian Tyler didn't look like a coldblooded killer. He was a big man, he dwarfed me by a foot, and his sweet wife by a foot and then some, but he gave the image of a man who was a gentle giant. He sat back on the cream-colored leather davenport, with one hand holding a white wine spritzer, of all things, while his other arm cuddled his wife close and the other huge hand played with her hair. No, he didn't look like the murdering type at all…unless you took the time to look into his eyes, that is.

I didn't want to look into his eyes. I wanted to concentrate on my own glass of wine, the one that I was pretending to drink, because it was polite to do so, but which I didn't drink, because he had made it for me, and I was familiar with his predilection for slipping women a mickey. It was unlikely that he would be eyeballing me as a potential victim, because I wasn't the type that he liked, but who's to say that he wouldn't do what he had to do to get rid of me, if he suspected that I knew who he really was?

"Would you like to join us for a late supper tonight, Francine?" Michelle asked, in a tone that was soft and sleepy, as she turned her head to nuzzle her lips against her husband's throat. "I thawed some chicken breasts for a little shish kabob…if I can talk this big lug into firing up the grill, that is."

I heard a muffled snort in my ear and closed my eyes and gritted my teeth, knowing, without a shadow of a doubt, that Tuck was ramming his elbow into FDR's ribs and vice versa, while the two of them enjoyed a good, long laugh over my given name. I resisted the urge to roll my eyes, which was easier than I would have expected it to be, and barely stifled the need to tell them to shut up, or to piss off, possibly even a combination of the two, an action that proved itself much harder to resist than the rolling of my eyes had been. There was no need for me to give Michelle, or, even worse, her husband, the idea that there was something a little off with me…though I might have failed to play things as cool as I would have liked, given the way that they were both watching me.

"Are you feeling alright, Francine?" Michelle asked, leaning forward, out of Damian's embrace, to place her dainty hand on my mine, and I was touched to see that there was concern in her eyes, along with the confusion. "You looked a little out of sorts for a moment. Is everything okay?"

I could still hear snorting and tittering in my ear, though it was obvious that they were doing their best to mask the fact that they were behaving in a way that was completely inappropriate. I hated to be a snitch, I'd avoided telling on them for as long as I possibly could, but they needed to learn to be professionals, for crying out loud. This was just another example of them viewing me as the one who was different, the one that they didn't have to be serious with, because I was a _girl_.

I swear, there were times when I would have loved to have had a different placement, times when I would have handed in my notice for a transfer, but I just couldn't make myself take that step and I knew that the thing that held me back made me pathetic, to follow a man around like a lost puppy dog, a man who, I might add, clearly wasn't even aware of the fact that I was a woman. Oh, I was pretty sure that he'd noticed the fact that I had breasts and all, but nothing beyond that, and I was pretty sure that he considered me to be physically, and undoubtedly intellectually inferior to him as well, I may as well have been sexless, for all of the appeal that I seemed to hold for him…..

"Francine?"

A deep, masculine voice broke through my ruminations, bringing me back to the reality of my life as a CIA operative, a female operative in a largely male world, who was hopelessly, and ridiculously, in love with her partner, well, _one_ of her partners. I tried to keep my surprise a secret as I turned my attention to Damian Tyler, but I knew that he could see plain as day that he'd scared me, because I could feel my heart hammering away in my chest, and I imagined that my eyes were wide and filled with fear as well.

"Yes?" I asked, biting back a curse when I heard the squeaky quality of my voice.

"Michelle just asked you a question," he told me, his voice slow and drawn out, as if he was speaking to a small child, or someone who was pathetically dimwitted. "She asked if you were feeling well. She remarked that you looked a bit out of sorts. She wanted to know if everything was okay. Does any of that ring a bell with you?"

I could hear the disdainful undertone of his voice, even though he was clearly making an effort to keep it to himself. I knew that he didn't approve of my friendship with his wife; I knew that he was insanely possessive and wanted all of her attention for himself, even though he wasn't nearly as selective as to whom he spent his time with, when she was not around.

I couldn't help but be scared of him, just a little, when I thought of the five women that had been found so far, but I wasn't going to let that fear keep me from doing my job. I felt that I owed it to those women to see that the monster who'd killed them was stopped, and, even more than that, I felt the need to protect my new friend from the abomination that she'd married. I was just grateful that I wasn't the type that he preferred; otherwise I might have had more to fear than simply making him mad.

"I'm sorry," I said, smiling first at Michelle, because that was easy, then at Damian, which wasn't easy at all, but I managed just fine none the less. "My mind drifted a little there, didn't it? Everything's just as it should be, and I am feeling fantastic, I just need to use the little girl's room, that's all."

Michelle bought my story easily enough, but I could tell that her husband wasn't quite convinced. He hadn't smiled, nor had he relaxed, if anything, he gave me the impression that he'd caught the scent of my lies, but he didn't call me out on his suspicions. He leaned back on the couch, and drew his wife closer, and made me nervous as hell with the way that he was watching me, slowly turning his head from one side to the other, until he finally allowed a tiny smile to touch his lips, which scared me even more.

"There's one downstairs, sweetie," Michelle said, drawing my attention from her husband with a start. "First door on the right, and when you get back we'll get started on those kebobs, if Damian will start up the grill. How does that sound to you, sugar?"

I wasn't certain that I was much of a 'sweetie', but that descriptive fit me a lot better than 'sugar' fit Damian Tyler, that's for damned sure. "That's sounds good to me, _Michelle_," he said softly, and the tone of his voice said that he didn't care for her addressing him with a term of endearment. "Just make sure that you hurry back, Francine. It would be such a shame if we had to start things without you."

His words were innocuous on the surface, but I could sense something lying beneath them, something that was cold, something that squirmed, a feeling and a promise that made my heart thud with trepidation. I hated to leave Michelle with him when he was in this frame of mind, but I had been given the task of securing some of his DNA, and Intel suggested that a good place for me to obtain what I needed was in one of the bathrooms, because supposedly Tyler kept a hairbrush in each of the five bathrooms in the house. All I had to do was pluck a few hairs out, and then feign a sudden illness and leave. It was a piece of cake, no trouble at all, at least, that was what I told myself, but I just couldn't get myself to believe it, no matter how hard I tried.

I left the room as calmly as I could, striving for the look of one who desperately needed to pee, then raced down the stairs once I was out of sight. It was a good thing that there was no visual surveillance set up just yet, because I could easily imagine the laugh that Tuck and FDR would have at my expense, if they could see me running around like a scared little girl. They were already having way too much fun as it was, there was no need for them to have additional ammunition to use against me, was there?

I'd reached the door of the bathroom and had started to turn the knob to open it when a scream filled the room above me, the one that I'd just fled. I'd never heard Michelle so much as raise her voice in the short time that I had known her, and now she was shrieking, one scream after another, the sort that are filled with both terror and pain, and I couldn't stifle the answering sob that rose in my throat as I froze, like a deer in the headlights, with my eyes trained on the ceiling above me.

"Frankie, are you alright?"

Tuck's voice was a whisper in my ear, and there was a frantic quality that might have pleased me at any other time, because it sounded like he cared about me, but I was a little too preoccupied at that moment to enjoy it. I tried to answer him, to assure him that I was okay, at least for the moment, but my voice was petrified, just like my body, and I couldn't even manage a whisper in return.

"Dammit, this is no time for you to be giving me the silent treatment, Frankie! I need to know whether you are injured or not!"

The screams above my head were growing weaker, and I knew that it was because he was stabbing her, like he had all of the others, and her energy and all of the fight that she'd had in her was draining away from her, along with her source of life. My hand automatically went to my side arm and I drew it out and took a deep breath, readying myself for what would come next.

I was deliberately ignoring the instructions that I'd been given, because I felt that I had no choice but to act. Chances were that I wouldn't be able to save her, not after all the time that had passed, but I wasn't about to stand by idly, or, even worse, flee the scene, before I put a slug in Damian Tyler. I wouldn't kill him, no matter how much I may have wanted to, but I'd put my mark on him before the night was through. That was the least that I could do for Michelle, now that I'd failed her…..

"Talk to me, Frankie!" Tuck's voice ordered, in a tone that I'd never heard him use before. "Give me a sign that you're still breathing in there!"

"He's killing her, Tuck," I whispered, my voice breaking when the last scream, a faint and pitiful wail, died abruptly, and left the house cloaked in silence. "That sick son of a bitch killed her."

I heard him take a deep breath, and then he sighed. "You need to get out of there right now," he ordered, in that no-nonsense tone that I _had_ heard before, many times, as a matter of fact. "Forget the evidence, forget any notions of being the hero, Frankie, just get out of there right now…do you hear what I'm saying to you?"

I hadn't gone deaf, I could hear him just fine, but that didn't mean that I was going to listen to him, did it? "He shouldn't have killed her, Tuck," I said softly, then reached up and took the communication device out of my ear, so that I wouldn't be swayed by the sound of his voice from the plan that I'd laid out for myself. Granted, it was half-assed, and very dangerous as well, but someone had to stop him, someone had to ensure that he was made to pay, and it looked like that someone was me…..

_Present Day_

Tuck's POV

She was supposed to be working on her report, Collins was expecting it at the end of the day, but she was sleeping instead. I'd been busy, working on my own report, when I wasn't stealing glances at her from across the way, when a tiny sound, a delicate little snore interrupted me, and I looked up to see that she'd bowed her head and was dozing. That peaceful look of slumber had lasted a couple of minutes, and then she practically flopped down on her desk and started snoring with all of the delicacy of a thirteen year old boy, which ought to have been off-putting, I suppose, but which made me smile, and then laugh, while I watched and listened.

It was a good thing for her that FDR was out of the office that day. He would have taken one look at her and pulled out his phone to make a video, but only after he'd drawn on her face, or rearranged her into an embarrassing position, and then he would have posted the video on YouTube, unless I intervened, which I would have, of course. The point that I'm trying to make is that he would not only consider doing these things, he would have been happy to do them, while I, on the other hand, wouldn't even consider them.

Our partner was frequently out of the office these days, because he and Lauren were expecting their first child, and he'd managed to charm Collins into giving him time off to attend each and every doctor's appointment, as well as readying the nursery. I suppose that there were those who might complain about his slacking work habits, since it left them with more to do themselves, but Frankie and I were happy to have a little peace and quiet…even though that atmosphere tended to encourage her to nap more often than she ought to.

Personally, I enjoyed these moments when she fell asleep, because that was the only time when she would allow her guard to be lowered all the way, until she was the Frankie that I'd first met. Granted, she wasn't chattering away like a magpie in her sleep, she was too busy snoring for that, but her body would relax and she gave the impression of someone who was at peace, as opposed to one who spent a good part of her day peering over her shoulder, fearfully expectant that she would catch a glimpse of the bogeyman who'd haunted her for the past four months, the one who'd almost taken her away from me.

I especially enjoyed the times when I suspected that she might have been dreaming about me, because she'd smile and sigh, and murmur things that sounded like they might have been lovey-dovey in nature. I suppose it was possible that she could have been dreaming about someone else, some faceless, nameless wanker who I would happily kill, or, at the very least, maim beyond recognition, if I was ever to learn his identity, but I liked to believe that she was dreaming about me.

Of course, there were the best dreams, the ones that left me with no doubts that I was the one that had her smiling and sighing and murmuring, because amidst all of that I would hear her say my name, and then I was the one who was smiling dreamily. Of course, I hadn't actually seen this so-called _dreamy_ smile on my face, FDR was the one who'd used that descriptive…a lot…so much so that I'd had to resort to threatening severe bodily harm which involved parts of his anatomy that no man wanted harmed, to get him to shut up. I was just thankful, for Frankie's sake, that he hadn't known the circumstances that surrounded my smile, otherwise he would have driven her crazy with his teasing as well.

It was easy to see, after she began dreaming, that this wasn't one of those smiley, sighing, murmur dreams. This was one of her bad ones, and I didn't have to wonder who she was seeing or what she was hearing, because I'd been the one who'd pulled her out of that bathroom, battered and bruised, and bloody enough to make me think, upon first sight, that she could be taken from me.

That was the night that I'd realized something that I'd been too blind and too stupid before that point to see. It hit me in that moment, as I held her close and ran my hands over her body, searching for the wound that I was certain was potentially fatal, and especially afterward, in the relief that accompanied the discovery that she was going to be alright, that I loved her, and, even more than that, that I was _in_ love with her.

It was funny, in a way, that I'd been so quick to become possessive of her, considering all of the time that I'd wasted in ignoring what I knew had been there all along, and it was a kindness that I probably didn't deserve, to know that she felt the same way toward me. Of course, we'd resisted the urge to give ourselves over to our feelings so far, due to the office policy on dating, but my resolve was wearing down quickly, as a matter of fact it was pretty much nonexistent, and I couldn't help but hope that she felt the same way.

I sat at my desk, listening to her dream grow worse and worse for as long as I could, but once she started choking on sobs and thrashing her head back and forth I knew that I couldn't stay in my seat any longer. I crossed the space between our desks, telling myself the entire time that I would lay my hand on her shoulder and shake her, very gently, until she woke up, and it was a plan that I fully intended to see through to the end, no less, but no more either, which was an honorable idea, but I forgot it all in a heartbeat when I saw the tears that were coursing their way down her cheeks.

I didn't put my hand on her shoulder, the way that I had planned. I turned her chair around instead, which woke her up just a little, enough to startle her, which was _not_ what I had planned at all. I moved quickly then, bending to place my hands beneath her legs, pulling her up into my arms very easily, and she didn't hesitate to throw her arms around my neck and press herself close against me, murmuring my name over and over, in a litany of sorts, while she ran her fingers through my hair, gripping it hard with each residual sob, then soothing it afterward.

I carried her across the room, back to my desk and eased back down into my chair, arranging her in a way that I hoped would be comfortable for her, while I ran my hand up and down her back and whispered to her very softly. My words weren't ones of any significance, but they worked to calm her down, and it wasn't long before she'd stopped crying altogether, and, a short while after that, she fell asleep again, with one of her hands resting on my neck, her fingertips twined in my hair, and the other laying on my chest, right over my heart, which I thought was very appropriate, since it belonged to her. Maybe that was a little cheesy, it might have even been considered schmaltzy by most people, but I didn't care about that.

"Don't worry, baby," I whispered, bending forward to place my nose against her hair, and breathing deep, to draw in her scent. "I'm not going to let anyone hurt you, Frankie. You're safe, here with me, I promise you….."

My voice trailed away as Collins made her way into our space, on the verge of handing out some direction or the other, but her words, like mine, died on her tongue as she took in the scene of me seated at my desk, cradling one of my partners in my arms. I suppose it would have been much worse, for both of us, if it had been FDR that I was holding, as opposed to Frankie, but the look that she gave me spoke volumes about the fact that it was still a big no-no in her book.

She turned and left without saying a word, but I knew that the time would come when I would be called to the mat and made to answer for my indiscretion. It was something that I'd experienced plenty in the past, having Collins chew on me when I'd messed up, and it wasn't pleasant, not at all, but I figured that I could handle it just fine, just so long as I got to hold Frankie until she woke up…more cheese, more schmaltz, I know, I know, but hey, what can I say? I'm a romantic guy, and there's nothing to be ashamed of in that, is there?


	2. Chapter Two

Chapter Two

Tuck's POV

Collins had always been a bit of a stickler where things like maintaining the proper behavior and appearance of an operative were concerned, and in the rules and regulations that we were expected to live our lives by, so it stood to reason that she'd be a tad bit cross when she came upon me cuddling Frankie in my arms, I just never realized that she'd punish me in so cruel a fashion for my grievous infraction.

It had been on the tip of my tongue to remind her that there were several times, countless occasions, as a matter of fact, when I had held FDR in my arms, which was no different than my holding of Frankie had been, but I hadn't had the nerve to bring up the topic, nor had I had any desire to tell such a vile lie either. Opening my mouth to say anything beyond _Yes, ma'am_ would have merely served to push the boss toward absolute and all-consuming fury, and though I _had_ held FDR close to me from time to time, there was nothing similar to be found in the embraces that I had shared with him and the one I had experienced with Frankie, nothing at all, and the suggestion that there might have been was enough to make me gag.

"You should see the furniture that we picked out for the little man," FDR said happily, much happier than I would have ever imagined he could be over the purchase of furniture to fill a nursery. "Lauren was trying to pick out all of this frilly, lacy, girly stuff, because she's made up her mind that the little bambino is going to be of the female persuasion, but I shot that down right away, because my son isn't about to be surrounded by a bunch of….."

Ignoring FDR once he was on a roll wasn't the easiest accomplishment in the world, but I had endured years of his company, and had therefore perfected the technique. All that I had to do was remember to nod every minute or so, and make a noise of some sort that made it seem as though I was hanging on his every word, and he would be perfectly content to rattle on, completely unaware that the only presence in the room whose concentration was solely on him were the walls, and I could have some hope of getting a little work done in relative peace and quiet.

Well, that is, I _could_ have been a productive boy, one who was eager to get back into Mommy's good graces, but I was too busy thinking about Frankie instead. I'd always considered myself to be a reasonably intelligent man, nowhere near the knuckle dragging, _ug_ muttering image that most men supposedly brought to life, but it seemed to me that I must in all reality be a very stupid man, one who was utterly blind and vastly clueless, given that it had taken me so long to see the potential and the value of what was right in in front of me, what had been in my sight for the past eighteen months.

It had felt wonderful to hold her in my arms, it was a feeling that I had grown quite fond of in the past four months, ever since that night when I almost lost her. I would have been very happy, overjoyed, as a matter of fact, if I could have her there, in my arms, each and every day, but sadly it was a sensation that was rationed out to me, one that I only got to feel from time to time, in moments when fortune was smiling upon me…..

"…..she's gained another couple of times, but the doctor said that it's perfectly normal for her to be packing on a little extra insulation, the closer we get to the time when Junior will make his arrival. I just hope that she doesn't make too much of a habit of gaining steadily like that, because she's still got a couple of months to go, and I'd hate for her to get _too_ fat, if you know what I mean….."

"Hmm," I mumbled, because I couldn't possibly utter my usual _mmm-hmm_. I suppose that it might have slipped his notice, but weight gain was completely normal when a woman was pregnant, as a matter of fact, it was something that she was expected and encouraged to do, provided that she didn't take to stuffing herself twenty-four hours a day. It had been awhile since I'd seen Lauren, but she'd been quite thin to begin with, and I couldn't imagine that she was remotely in danger of pushing maximum density…I personally thought that it was a nice thing, for a woman to have a few curves on her body, though it hadn't become such an obvious fixation for me until lately, four months ago, to be exact.

How could I have possibly missed the curves that rested beneath Frankie's sensible blouses? What was worse was the fact that I'd never once paid any attention at all to the way her backside filled out her trousers. How on earth had that sight passed me by without drawing a single second glance? It seemed that I couldn't look anywhere else these days, as if there were metal disks buried in her flesh, and my eyes had suddenly become magnetic. Needless to say, it was something that was quite distracting for me, not to mention a tad bit embarrassing, especially when certain parts of my anatomy took notice of her in a way that was obvious to all around me, or, that is, it _would_ have been, had I not been quick to camouflage the uprising with a folder, or my laptop, or…..

Aw, bullocks…there it went again. My hands scrambled over the surface of my desk and found a folder and swiftly dropped it down onto my lap. It was something that had worked swimmingly before, but this time it hit and promptly bounced off, almost as if my willy was a trampoline. Thank God that FDR was wrapped up in himself, a state of being for him which was par for the course, therefore he didn't notice the leaping folder, nor did he see me dropping beneath my desk to retrieve it...or, so I thought.

"…..I told her that it's perfectly safe for us to have sex right up until the point where she goes into labor, but she insists that we have to stop two weeks before her due date…Tuck, are you alright?"

I could feel my face flaming as I climbed out from beneath my desk and it was very difficult to climb back into my chair with the disobedient folder clasped tightly against my crotch, but I managed to do just that none the less. It was obvious that FDR was irritated at being interrupted mid-spiel, and it wouldn't do at all to give him material that would have made for very damaging and humiliating ammunition to be used against me, would it?

"Smashing," I said, with a fake enthusiasm that I didn't feel, while I forced a smile to curve my lips, even though I felt like snarling. "I just dropped my folder, that's all."

He watched me very closely, with eyes that were narrowed, and brows, big, bushy brows that had always reminded me of caterpillars, lowered to rest right on top of his eyes, and I knew that I was in trouble. FDR had to have been one of the most narcissistic beings that I'd ever known, but if there was one thing that he loved even more than talking about himself, it was uncovering the deepest, darkest secrets of another, and I knew that I was in trouble, big trouble, when his gaze honed in on me.

"Hmm…that's not it at all," he said, tilting back his chair, to rest his feet on his desk. "Something's bothering you; something has gotten beneath your skin and made you a real pain in my ass lately. Now what could that something be, I wonder? What could have happened recently that would have you acting this way?"

I wasn't all that concerned about him sniffing out my problem, given the fact that he was usually blind and deaf to anything and everything that didn't concern him in some way. I leaned back in my chair, and planted my own feet on my desktop, just to show him that I wasn't worried about him finding out my secret, but instead of throwing him off of the scent, my nonchalant attitude seemed to heighten his predatory nature even further. His eyes grew closer together, so much so that he might have appeared to have been asleep, had it not been for the slow, and thoroughly evil, smile that was curving his lips.

I always thought that he was rather dim to be so oblivious to the sparks and the feelings that had developed between Frankie and me, but I always knew that it was a good thing that he hadn't noticed, it was for the best, though it seemed that those months of secret bliss were swiftly drawing to an end, damn it all. It would be hell from now on, Frankie and I would never be afforded a single moment of peace and quiet, not to mention privacy, and it was all that I could do, to restrain myself from the urge to…..

"You went out with that chick from Human Resources, didn't you?" he asked, wagging those unkempt eyebrows of his up and down, while he grinned in a manner that was reminiscent of a chimpanzee. "You went out with Missy, the blonde with the first-class fun bags, and they found out and fried your ass, didn't they? That's why Collins is so steamed at you, isn't it? That's why she….."

"That's why I _what_, Mr. Foster?" Collins thundered, sweeping into the room and scaring the hell out of both of us, just like she always did, because she'd mastered the art of moving without making a sound. "And both of you get your damned feet off of those desks! Can't you see the mess that you're making, or are your eyes just as useless as your brains?"

We both straightened in an instant, and I had to bite back a laugh when Franklin was so eager with his intention to please the boss that he lost his balance and nearly fell out of his chair. Of course, I was so relieved that he had been so far off the mark with his guess about what was bothering me that I'd been smiling anyway. Of course, it was a little insulting that he thought that I'd even share a handshake with the bleached blonde from Human Resources, but I could live with it, if it kept him off of the trail that led to the truth.

"Hmm…what…oh, hey, Chief," Franklin said, stammering and tripping over his own tongue while he struggled to right himself in his chair. "What I meant to say is…uh…what I was telling Mr. Hansen is…er…well, that is…that you look so…hmm…_happy_…today. Is there something that we ought to know about, ma'am? What could be the reason for that winning smile and the little bounce in your step….?"

"Cut the crap, Foster," Collins thundered, and I couldn't help but stare at my friend in amazement, while I tried to decide whether he was unbelievably brave or just vastly stupid. It took me all of two seconds to decide that it was the latter, rather than the former, and I hoped that he possessed just enough brainpower to know that it was best that he listen to her, and not utter another word, unless it was _yes, ma'am_, _no, ma'am_ or _as you command, ma'am_.

"Cutting the crap as we speak, ma'am," he said quietly, trying for a smile that he probably thought would win her over, which proved that stupidity was still holding the lead with his mind and mouth. "May I please apologize for offending your nerves….?"

She rolled her eyes and sighed, the sort of noise someone made when they were feeling very weary and more than a little peeved as well, and then she turned her attention to me. "Hansen, did you finish those reports, or have you been piddling your time away like your good friend, Franklin, hmm?"

It was a miracle that I had finished all of my work, given the fact that I'd spent so much time daydreaming, but everything was just as it ought to be. It was just fortunate for me that I'd put so much effort into my tasks for the day when I'd first arrived, because I'd pretty much piddled after that. I reached down and grabbed the folder off of my lap, and was profoundly grateful for the fact that my willy had gone back to sleep, so that I wouldn't be embarrassed right there in front of the boss, and handed it to her, completely ignoring FDR, who I knew was glaring at me from across the room.

She flipped through the pages, then looked back at me and motioned her head back over her shoulder. "You're done for the day, now get out of here," she said, and it was mighty tempting for me to laugh at the look that had come over FDR's face, but I resisted the urge, lest I draw Collins' wrath in my direction. I gathered up my belongings as quickly as possible and made my way out of the office before I could take a look at Franklin and lose all of my self-control and have a nice, long chuckle at his expense.

"Does that mean that I can leave too, ma'am?" I heard him ask as I made my escape, proving, once more, that he was letting his stupid side run the show. "Surely I can take an early out, can't I? After all, my wife is pregnant and I've been working very hard and Lauren needs me and….."

I didn't hear the rest of his words; I would imagine that there wasn't anyone in the office who did…though none of us had any trouble at all hearing Collins shouting at him in response.

Frankie's POV

There was a time when I had felt safe in my tiny house, but now it felt dangerous to me. I could feel eyes on me with every step that I took, I felt like there was someone who was listening to every word that I spoke. I kept my bedroom light turned on all night, in the hope that the brightness might help me to sleep, but even with it shining I had trouble closing my eyes. It had taken me a month to work up the nerve to stay in my bathroom for longer than ten minutes at a time, and three months to shower with the curtain closed, but every little baby step was progress…at least that was what I told myself.

I couldn't remember much of what had happened the other day in the office, aside from waking up to the sound of Collins' voice while she chewed me out, along with Tuck. That was why I didn't know for sure why I'd ended up cradled in his arms in the first place, but what I did know, without a doubt, was that nothing had ever felt better to me, than to feel myself being held tight in his arms, against that chest that made my mouth water, and that I'd never felt safer than I had in that moment…unless I counted that night from four months back, that is.

I suppose that I had to count that time, even though it hurt so much to remember the details, because he had held me close after I'd almost been killed. Granted, he'd been cursing at me, and making me feel like a complete idiot, but he'd also been saying sweet things, words that I never would have dared to dream that he'd speak to me, all while he held me close and pressed his lips to the top of my head, to my cheek, and an eye that closed for him, so that embrace had to make the list, didn't it?

I didn't think that it was very fair that Collins had made me stay home for a couple of days, so that Tuck could partner solely with FDR and get his mind back on his work, but I'd learned a long time ago that it was best to keep your mouth shut in these sorts of circumstances, and I used the time off to my advantage, running errands and cleaning my house, which I'd just finished, when the sound of the doorbell filled the room around me.

I stood still for a moment, staring at the door, my heart pounding in my chest, and then jumped when the bells chimed again. The sound was loud, and threatening to me, and I was tempted to run to my room and retrieve my pistol, but then I heard a knock, and a voice came through the door, one that was as familiar to me as my own was.

"Frankie? It's me, Tuck. Are you there, sweetheart?"

It had taken me awhile to get used to his frequent hugs, though I wasn't inclined to complain anytime soon, and I certainly wasn't going to raise a fuss over his tendency to call me his _sweetheart_, or, in those rare and absolutely glorious moments, his _baby_. It was just a little overwhelming, that was all, it was going to take some time for me to be able to accept that what I'd wanted for so long was finally mine, but I'd get used to it sooner or later, and I'd love every last minute of the adjustment period, I can promise you that.

I felt hot and sweaty, and I probably looked even worse, but I wasn't about to let vanity step in the way of time spent with my favorite guy. I straightened my hair as best as I could and made my way to the door, unlocking one bolt after another, before taking a deep breath and opening the barrier between us. The sight of him made me weak in the knees, just as it always did, a feeling that he intensified by smiling at me, and then I caught sight of something that looked like heaven and smelled absolutely divine…the trademark box from Luigi's Pizzeria, size large, which equaled eight slices of culinary delight.

"Oh, Tuck," I said softly, in a tone that was almost breathless in nature. "What have you done?"

He smiled at me, which made my knees even wobblier than they already were, and then arched an eyebrow, which made my heart skip a beat in a rhythm that could already be called pounding. "One large pan pizza, topped with pepperoni, sausage, black olives, mushrooms, extra cheese and extra sauce," he murmured in a voice that was downright seductive in tone. "A Frankie special ma'am…complete with a two liter of ice-cold Pepsi and a gallon of chocolate chip cookie dough ice cream. How does that sound to you?"

I was already suffering from sensory overload, from the sight of him, and the smell of the pizza, but the knowledge that he'd taken the time to get all of my favorites, and present them to me with no mentions of calories or fat grams threw me into a place where it took every last scrap of my self-control to stop me from launching myself into his arms, thus climbing him like a tree, while I kissed every last part of him that I could reach. Thankfully I was able to resist the urge, though I have to admit that it wasn't easy, not even when I imagined him dropping the comfortingly sinful bounty to the floor to make a huge mess.

"It sounds wonderful, it smells delightful, and it looks almost as good as you do," I sighed, then blushed, and then clapped a hand over my mouth. Oh, God, help. It seemed that I could control my motions just fine, but my words were another matter altogether. Once more I pondered running to my room, only this time I meant to hide, rather than to arm myself, but that was all forgotten when he smiled at me and made his way into my house, bending to press a kiss, one that went on for several seconds, to my cheek as he passed.

"Watch yourself, sweetheart," he whispered in my ear, setting off sparks inside of me that made me shiver all over. "You wouldn't want to give me a big head, would you?"


	3. Chapter Three

Chapter Three

Frankie's POV

I'd never been much of a morning person, I'd always enjoyed sleeping as late as I possibly could, at the expense of makeup, styled hair and ironed clothing, but those were habits that I'd had to do away with once I became an adult and my appearance was expected to be that of someone who made the effort to look as put together and professional as possible. I was so happy that Collins had agreed to let me come back to work, even if it meant that I was going to have to listen to FDR jabber about this or that all day long, enough so that I was up and at 'em as soon as my alarm went off, as opposed to hitting the snooze button to catch an extra five minutes of sleep.

I picked out my clothes for the day and ironed them before I laid them out on the bed, and then I went into the bathroom, humming as I walked along, my mind filled with the memories of pizza, ice cream, Pepsi…and Tuck. He really was a sweetheart, a Prince Charming all of my very own, and I had to wonder why some smart woman hadn't snatched him up yet, and, at the same time, I thanked my lucky stars that none had, because that would make my loving him a difficult and awkward position to find myself in, to say the very least.

I brushed my teeth and tried to ignore the shower, but it was a task that was akin, I would imagine, to attempting to pee at a urinal when someone was standing behind you. Of course, I didn't know about that personally, but I had listened to Tuck and FDR discuss it one afternoon, and I was grateful that I would never have to experience that sort of thing firsthand.

That being said, I _would_ have to force myself to take a shower, because cleanliness was an important thing to me, something that was undoubtedly appreciated by all those who would come into contact with me throughout the day, though I couldn't help but wish, for the umpteenth time, that there was another way for me to cleanse myself that didn't involve stepping into the tub.

"You can always leave the curtain open if you need to," I said, taking a big swig of water and swishing it all around, then spitting it into the sink, never taking my eyes off of the shower that was standing behind me, scaring me, taunting me, and just daring me to step a foot into its confines. "There's no shame in taking a step backward every now and then, is there?"

It was a thought that was a comfort to me, the idea of leaving the curtain open while I hurried through my shower, but at the same time, I couldn't help but feel disgusted with myself for even considering something that would basically destroy all of the progress that I had made in the past month. It would be the easiest thing in the world, to pull those old comforts back around me, to enfold myself in what was safe, but I knew that what was easiest was seldom what was best, and I'd be damned if I was going to allow myself to fall back into my old routines.

I turned on the water and adjusted the temperature until it was perfectly warm, not too hot and not too cold, and then I took one deep breath, then a second, followed closely by a third, before I had gathered enough determination to pull back the curtain and step inside the shower, though it took a fourth breath, then a fifth, and a sixth and a seventh before I was able to pull the curtain closed around me.

I immediately felt as if the walls were closing in on me, though, I suppose that it would be more accurate to say that it was the shower curtain that was pressing in on me from all sides. I could feel the hitch that I'd thought I'd left behind taking hold of my breathing, I could feel the tears filling my eyes, and the whimpers that were rising in my throat and I was angry with myself for acting the way that I was, but my irritation wasn't enough to chase away my fear…especially with the scent that was filling the air all around me.

My body wash smelled like orchid and juniper berry, it was a familiar to me, something that calmed me, but that wasn't what I smelled in the shower. There were subtle hints of jasmine and rose filling my nose, and both of these were scents that I never used, ones that I _would_ never use, not now, that I knew who favored that combination…..

Oh, dear God. I looked at the tiny shelf in the corner of the shower, where my bottles of body wash and shampoo normally rested and felt one of the sobs that I'd been choking down escape me when I saw that my shampoo was right where it ought to be, but the purple bottle that held my soap was missing, and had been replaced with a clear one that held the shower gel version of the perfume that I'd grown to hate…..

_Tuck had yelled at me, he had threatened to hurt me in ways that I'd never known were possible if I didn't wait for him and FDR to arrive as my backup, but I didn't want to wait for them. Damian Tyler had hurt so many women, he'd caused so much pain, and so much terror and he deserved to be punished for what he'd done, truth be told, he deserved to die, and I knew that nothing would make me happier than to be the one who took him out._

_That was the thought that filled my head as I clutched my Glock and crouched in the corner, as I was filled with a sense of righteous indignation, on behalf of Michelle, and of all of the others who'd had their lives taken by the monster upstairs. All that I had to do was wait for him to make his way downstairs and then he would be mine, he would have no idea at all that I was waiting for him, he would assume that I had run, who wouldn't run, when they heard screams, that was what someone like him would think, and then he would be mine._

_It smelled like Michelle in the bathroom, it was the mix of jasmine and rose that always clung to her, but it wasn't as warm as it should have been. There were bottles of a scent called Joy all over the vanity top. There was perfume and lotion and powder, and I could see a clear bottle of bath gel in the shower, so it was no wonder that the bathroom smelled like a garden, one that was redolent with roses and jasmine, and it ought to have been a pleasant thing, but I found the scent overwhelming, and threatening, nothing at all like what it was when I smelled it on Michelle._

_I could hear his footsteps on the landing above, and I knew that he was going to come looking for me, just to make sure that I had really left, and that I wasn't hiding from him. I waited to hear him making his way down the stairs, but I never detected his moving…and then everything plunged into darkness all around me, and I heard him humming close by, then softly singing, _"You're just too good to be true, can't take my eyes off of you".

_I knew that he was close by, but I couldn't lock-on to his location. I tightened my finger on the trigger of my pistol and aimed for the doorway, waiting for him to continue with his song, so that I could use the sound to pinpoint where he was and hopefully put a bullet between his eyes, but he never made another sound…not until his breath was falling warm upon my neck._

"Hello, Francine," _he whispered in my ear, as his hand wrapped around my throat and pulled me close, so that I could feel the bite of the blade that he held in his other hand, the one that was still wet and sticky with Michelle's blood….._

I came to beside the bathtub, making a sound that was a mixture between a sob and a scream. It seemed that I had been doing that for a while, if the sore state of my throat was any indication, but now I was back, and I made myself calm down by running through the exercises that Dr. Nolan had taught me four months ago. I repeated the calming words over and over and forced myself to place my body beneath the shower stream, even though the water had grown cold and I was absolutely terrified.

I left the curtain open, even though I'd promised myself that I wouldn't, because I just couldn't deal with the claustrophobia at that moment, and I made myself ignore the bottle of shower gel that didn't belong, and the image of myself in the mirror, which showed every mark that Damian Tyler had placed upon my body. I made my way through the shower, and I even managed makeup and a simple hairstyle afterward. I dressed myself and functioned like a normal human being, even as I pulled on gloves before I placed the bottle of shower gel into an evidence bag, and was very proud of myself…until I looked at the clock and saw that I was three hours late for work.

Tuck's POV

She looked like hell when she came running in, three and a half hours after she was due to arrive, and I could imagine that I looked just as bad as she did. Last night had been wonderful, she'd been comfortable with me, and relaxed, and I hadn't seen a hint of the shadows that had been in her eyes when I first arrived, but now they were back in full force, much more than they had been last night, and the worry that had been rubbing my nerves raw intensified, to the point where it was almost physical in nature.

It was fortunate for her that Collins had a full schedule with meetings that were taking place away from headquarters, because she would have undoubtedly chewed Frankie up and spit her out had she been there. It was also the best of luck that FDR was working out of the building for the day, questioning two witnesses, which meant that it was just going to be me and Frankie working together today.

I was a little shocked that Collins approved of the two of us working together again, after she'd caught me holding Frankie in my arms, but I wasn't about to complain, or question things too much. I was just glad that I had the time to spend with her all alone; it would almost be like we'd never had to part last night. The only downside was that I had to keep my hands to myself, no matter what, and let me assure you that it was one _hell_ of a drawback for me, because I tended to live for those moments when I was allowed to touch her in any way.

I was supposed to be running through the surveillance tapes for our latest case, well, that is, _we_ were supposed to be giving them a good going-over, but I'd lingered in the office, forcing myself not to call her every five minutes, settling instead on doing so every fifteen minutes, growing more and more frantic with each ring that led to her voicemail. My worry had quickly taken hold of me, and now that I saw that she was alright I was filled with an overwhelming feeling of relief, along with a substantial helping of anger as well.

There was a time when I would have been tempted to give her a piece of my mind, to read her the riot act for scaring me out of my wits, but when I saw the look on her face, and the proof that she'd done a lot of crying that morning I forgot all about the need to vent my temper and waited very patiently for her to approach me. She made her way to her desk and put down her purse, and then she rushed over to my desk, almost running, until she reached my side, where she stopped and put her hands behind her back, staring at the floor, while she twisted one hand with the other.

I'd been so sure that she meant to hug me, and maybe she had, but apparently she'd decided against doing so. I couldn't help but feel disappointed, even though I knew that it was for the best that I didn't wrap my arms around her. Of course, that didn't mean that I couldn't touch her at all, did it? I suppose that there were those who would say that I shouldn't put my hands on her in any way, but I knew that there was no way that I could resist the urge to feel her skin with my own, and that was why I put my finger beneath her chin and raised her face so that she would look at me, well, that, and because I wanted to see her eyes as well.

"I was worried about you," I said softly, bringing my finger around, running it, very gently, over her chin. "I tried to call you, but you didn't answer your phone. Are you okay, Frankie? Is there something that you need to tell me?"

She hesitated for a moment, and then started to speak, only to stop at the last minute to sigh, and to shake her head. "I'm sorry that I scared you, Tuck. I just had a lot of bad dreams last night, and I overslept this morning and I took the phone off of the hook because there was this telemarketer that kept calling me and I don't need any help, but thanks for asking and….."

It was obvious that she was lying, I could always tell when she was keeping things from me, but I knew that it wouldn't be good for either one of us if I tried to push her into talking to me, into being honest with me, before she was good and ready to do just that. I placed my fingertip on her lips to shush her and felt my heart skip a beat in my chest when she took a deep breath and released it onto my hand.

"You don't have to explain anything to me right now, Frankie," I said, quickly moving my hand away from her face when Ted Myers, the nosy little bastard, made his way past our office, searching out any and all infractions that he could find, and report later on when Collins was back in the office. "I'm always here to listen when you need me, but I know how to be patient until you're ready to open up, alright?"

She took another deep breath, one that wasn't quite as shaky as the other had been, then gave me a smile, to show me that she was alright, and I returned the gesture, even though I knew that she was hiding from me. "Thanks, Tuck," she said quietly. "Are you ready to get to work?"

I was more in the mood for a heart-to-heart with her, but I knew that Collins would have both our asses in a sling if we didn't make it through all six hours of the tapes. We made our way to one of the surveillance rooms and pulled up the files of a brothel in Berlin called Gentleman's Choice. The Madame, Lena Petersen, was the number one suspect on our list of people who might be acting as the ringleader of an underground arms market, and Collins wanted me and Frankie to write a report on her activities for the past three days, and who she had coming and going, no pun intended, out of her establishment on a day-to-day basis.

We weren't very far into our viewing when it became obvious to me, in the most painful way possible, that the material we had to watch was the sort that a man tended to react to in ways that he didn't want anyone witnessing. The goings-on out on the public floor were bad enough, but for some reason there was footage of one of the private rooms where the women took men for more thorough entertainment, and my eyes followed the action on the screen, along with my ears keeping a record of every sound, all while I tried, and failed, to keep my mind off of Frankie.

She was sitting right beside me, and hadn't uttered a word since the first bare body had made its way across the screen, and I worked up all of my nerve to sneak a peek at her face, a move that proved to be a huge mistake on my part. She was watching everything unfold with rapt fascination, her eyes widening at times, while her fingertips dug into the armrests on her chair. It was kind of funny, I suppose, to realize that watching her, and observing her obvious arousal, turned me on more than anything I'd seen on the screen, and my own desire grew stronger and more insistent when she moved closer to me and pressed her knee against mine.

It shouldn't have affected me the way that it did, I mean, it was her _knee_, not her hand, or, in my wildest dreams, her breast, that was touching me, and more than likely she wasn't even aware of the fact that she was pressed up against me, but I was aware of it, and I was squirming in my chair because of it, all while my hand begged me, shamefully, I might add, to reach over and touch her hair, to stroke her face, to pull her out of that chair and onto my lap, so that I could kiss her until we both…..

"Hey, isn't that Lukas Schmidt?" she asked suddenly, turning to look at me with eyes that were a little dazed, a little worked up, and even a tad bit dreamy. I might have been tempted to lose myself in those eyes, okay, I _was_ tempted to lose myself, but the name that she mentioned was one that was on our list of suspects and I turned eagerly to the screen…only to recoil in disgust when I got an eyeful of the rather large and hairy backside that was frantically dancing between the thighs of the blonde prostitute that we'd been surveying.

"It's kind of difficult to tell," I said, choking just a bit as my stomach roiled about in response to the protest of my eyes, and my ears, and my sense of wellbeing. "But given the ugliness of his face, I'd wager that ass belongs to him as well, wouldn't you agree?"

I'd made her laugh, and that made it all worth it. I could wait to hear about what had happened to her, I could be patient and understanding, and I could even accept the horror that I had seen just moments before…though I have to admit that I would be hard-pressed to resist the urge to decontaminate my eyes after what I'd seen today.


	4. Chapter Four

Chapter Four

Tuck's POV

The park was full of families; everywhere that I looked I could see groups that were made up of a Dad and a Mom, with a varying amount of children, and the occasional pet as well. My own group consisted of just me and Joe today, like it did every time that we came to throw the football back and forth, but that was okay. It's not that I would be against the idea of having a woman there to be my wife and Joe's stepmom, one woman, in particular, would be perfect for that job, but I had to be patient, I had to take my time, I had to…..

_Oomph_…my breath left me in an instant when the ball hit me like a rocket in my bread basket, and I dropped to the ground, cradling my aching flesh and groaning while I rolled back and forth. It seemed that I needed to add an _I had to pay attention to what Joe is doing, so that I won't be in excruciating pain_ to that list that I'd been running through in my head, didn't it? This was the sort of thing that happened when a man let his head and his heart…not to mention the other part of his body that rested beneath his waist…get all wrapped up in a woman, but life would be pretty damned boring, and not worth living, without that connection, wouldn't it?

"Oh, crap, oh, crap, oh, crap…Dad, are you alright?"

Joe hit the ground beside me, looking absolutely terrified, and I couldn't help but feel a little warm fuzzy take hold of my heart, in spite of the pain that was radiating just a tad bit south of my bellybutton. There was a time when I had been a rubbish excuse for a father, no matter how hard I tried, but all of that had changed, and it made me feel good, and proud, to know that my son cared about me. That knowledge was enough to make the hit to my breadbasket worth it…I don't know if I would have been quite so thrilled, had he hit me in the balls, but there was no need to waste time thinking about that, was there?

"Hey, Joe, I'm fine," I said, forcing myself to roll over onto my side, even though it hurt to do so, when I saw that he had tears in his eyes, tears that obviously shamed him, given the way that he angrily dashed them away with his fists. "Don't be upset, kiddo, alright? You didn't really hurt me too bad; I just needed a moment to catch my breath, okay?"

He nodded, but he still wouldn't look at me, and it was obvious that he was embarrassed to have me witnessing his tears, and that bothered me. I tried to remember any time in his life when I might have given him the impression that it was unacceptable for him to cry in front of me, and I couldn't remember a single moment, but there had to be one, I had to have said, or done something that would make him feel shame over his tears.

My own father had told me that it wasn't manly to cry, he'd even gone so far as to give me a smack on the back of my head when I shed any tears in his presence, with the promise of giving me something to really cry about, if I didn't stop, but I had never behaved that way with my own son. I could remember a promise that I had made to myself when I was a boy, one that said that I would never treat my own children the way that my father had treated me, and I had kept that vow…hadn't I?

"You never have to hide things from me," I told him, putting my arms around him and drawing him close to me. I suppose that it might have been a move that embarrassed him, chances were pretty good that hugs from your dad were just as much of a social faux pas for boys as tears were, but _I_ needed a hug, even if he didn't want one. "You know that, don't you, Joe?"

I was a little surprised, and very pleased, that he not only accepted my embrace, he encouraged and returned it as well, very enthusiastically, as a matter of fact. He wound his arms around my neck and hugged me close, and that was when the tears really started to flow, and I held him tight, and rubbed my hand in his hair while he cried. I don't know if anyone was watching us or not, I didn't bother to devote any of my attention to them. I was content, instead, to hold my son and comfort him until he'd calmed down enough to move away from me all on his own.

"Real men aren't supposed to cry," he said quietly, in a voice that had been roughened by his tears. "I'm sorry that I acted like a little girl, Dad, but I thought that I had hurt you, and I was afraid that you might be mad at me, that you might not want to spend any more time with me, that you….."

"Whoa, put the brakes on, Son," I said, using my thumb to wipe away the tears that refused to be subdued. "If men aren't supposed to cry, then why do we have tear ducts?"

He thought about that for a minute, then looked back at me and raised an eyebrow, an expression that I recognized as one that said that he'd thought of something that would trump me. "I don't know the answer to that one, Dad, but maybe it's the same thing as the fact that men have nipples, even though they can't feed a baby with them. It's something that exists, even though it doesn't make much sense, does it?"

He was still a little too young for me to give him "the talk", so that meant that he was way too young for me to explain to him that nipples weren't just for providing nourishment to a woman's offspring, and that was why men had them as well. I thought to myself that it would be best, for both of us, if I shelved that topic right away, wouldn't you agree?

"Can I tell you a secret, Joe?" I asked quietly, moving back so that he could sit in front of me on the grass.

"Sure."

"I cry every time our visits with one another are over, because it makes me sad to know that I have to go back home without you. Real men _do_ cry, because they're not too chicken to admit when they're scared or sad. You're not a sissy if you cry, and you're not a girl, you're just what you ought to be, and even better than that, you're brave enough to show your emotions. That's what makes you a real man, Joe, not some bullsh…er…_crap_ idea that men aren't supposed to cry. Does that make sense to you, Son?"

"Yeah," he said softly, reaching out to pluck a blade of grass off of the lawn, tearing it to little pieces. "It does, Dad."

"Then you understand that I'm not mad at you for crying in front of me, and you know that the time that we get to spend together is priceless to me, it's the most important thing in my life, don't you?"

I could see that there were tears brimming in his eyes again, but this time they were accompanied by a huge smile. "Are you saying that I'm the most important thing in your life, Dad?"

"Of course you are..."

"I'm even more important to you than your job or FDR?"

"There's no contest at all."

"I even rate over saving the world?"

"The world could burn, for all I care."

"Okay, what about Frankie, Dad? Which one of us is the one who matters most to you?"

"I love you more than anything or anyone else in this world, and that includes Frankie," I said, without even a moment of hesitation. "I've loved you from the first time I felt you move inside of your mum's tummy, and I will love you until I take my last breath…now then, does that answer your question or are you still unsure of just how important you are to me?"

I was surprised to learn that he knew about my love for Frankie. I was so sure that I had kept all of those emotions hidden from the world, but it would seem that I had been transparent instead; at least, I had to him. I was also pleased to discover that he seemed to approve of my feelings, given the teasing way that he had said her name, but then, he had always liked Frankie, so why would he be upset by the idea that I was in love with her?

"You must really love me then, don't you, Dad?" he said, bringing me out of my thoughts with a start. "If you love me more than you do Frankie, because I would have thought that you loved her with every last bit of your heart."

Frankie's POV

"Where are you, Francine?"

I looked all around me, straining to adjust my eyes to the sudden darkness that had enveloped me. "I'm in the bathroom. I'm alone, for now, but he's coming for me. He killed her, and now he's coming after me."

"Who killed whom? Who is coming for you, Francine?"

Dr. Nolan's voice was calming to me, almost hypnotically so, and I kept a firm grip on it, even as I immersed myself in the memory of that night. "Damian Tyler killed his wife, he killed my friend, Michelle, and now he is coming down the stairs. He's turned out all of the lights, so I can't see him, and I can't hear him either. I can feel the dark all around me, it's pressing in on me, it's _blinding_ me. I can smell the Joy, but it's so different, it's so cold, it isn't how it's supposed to be, he's changed it somehow, and now he's coming for me….."

I could hear the edge that was sharpening my voice, the one that said that my fear was growing, so much so that it was threatening to take complete control of me, and I forced myself to take deep, calming breaths, until I felt my heartbeat slow down somewhat. There was a part of me, deep down inside, that was proud of the fact that I'd managed to calm myself without Dr. Nolan having to intervene. It was a smallish victory, I suppose, when you looked at the big picture, but I relished each and every triumph, no matter how tiny, because that meant that I was one step closer to putting my demons behind me…at least, that was what I told myself.

"Why is he coming for you, Francine?"

I could clearly see his face in my mind, I could see the coldness that infused his eyes, I could sense the anger that caused his jaw to draw tight, and I knew that my presence infuriated him. He didn't want Michelle to have any friends, he didn't want to take the chance that there would be someone in her life who would show her that she was special and that she was loved, and that was why he hated me…that was why he had killed her that night.

"It's my fault that Michelle is dead," I whispered, feeling a splintering in my heart, the same fracture that I had felt when I knew that Damian was killing her. "If she'd never met me, she'd still be alive; he never would have hurt her if I hadn't provoked him. I ought to have stayed away from her, I ought to have known better….."

"No, Francine," the doctor said quietly, but authoritatively, in a tone that he didn't use very often, but one that always caught my attention and hastened me to listen each and every time that he used it. "You are not responsible for the actions of Damian Tyler. _He_ is the one who is to blame for what happened to Michelle, not you. You are only responsible for your own actions, and you did not kill Michelle Tyler. Now, what happened next?"

He knew what happened next. He had read my file, I knew that he had, and that meant that he'd seen it spelled out, in black and white, all of the ugly things that had happened to me. I didn't want to delve into that, I didn't want to focus on it, I didn't want to feel it, I didn't want any part of it...I just wanted to be left alone. I didn't want to open that box again, I didn't want to run the risk of blurting out what I'd found in my shower. How on earth could I possibly explain all of that without sounding like someone who'd lost their mind? How could I….?

"Francine?"

His voice was soft, just as I liked it to be, and drew me from my worries, back into the memories that haunted me, the ones that he wanted me to recreate, again and again. He told me that it was for the best, he said that it was what I needed, to help me heal, to make me whole once more, and there was a big part of me that believed him…but that left the little part of me, the one that wanted to be left alone, and it was surprising to me, how loud that tiny piece of me could be, when she wanted to be heard.

"What happened next?"

I ground my teeth together and shook my head, then shook it even harder when I heard him say my name. "You _know_ what happened next," I snapped, pounding my fists against the armrests of my chair. "You know, I know, the whole damned department knows, so why in hell do I have to talk about it over and over again? Why can't we talk about something else, _anything_ else, that doesn't have anything to do with what happened to me in that bathroom?"

I knew that I was making a spectacle of myself, but I didn't care. There were times when it was good to scream, and to cry, and to act in a totally irrational and childish manner, and this was definitely one of those times for me. I was pretty sure that Dr. Nolan would have preferred me to remain calm and cool and collected, but that version of me wasn't in the office today. I'd purposefully left her at home, and it was highly unlikely that she'd be making an appearance anytime soon.

"Yes, I do know what happens next, but our goal is for you to have less fear where your memories are concerned, and how can we achieve this objective if you insist on hiding from the memories that prove to be the most frightening and painful to you?"

His voice was still soft and soothing, in spite of the fact that I'd been railing at him like a spoiled brat, and I felt bad for behaving the way that I had…though not quite bad enough to let go of my determination to keep that particular part of my memory in the dark, where it belonged.

"I don't know if I'll ever be able to reach that goal, Doctor, but I _can_ tell you that today is not that day, today is the day that I walk out of here with my head held high, as opposed to trembling with fear and jumping every time I hear a sound that's louder than a whisper."

He took a deep breath and leaned forward in his chair, training those brilliantly blue eyes of his directly on mine, and refusing me the option of avoiding him, which was what I would have preferred to do. "You must relive the trauma, so that you might heal, Francine. You must learn to control your fear; you must see that you cannot be hurt by that night any longer. I know that this treatment feels unnatural to you; I know that it goes against your instinct to take that night apart, again and again, but you have to do so in order to learn to control your memories, to be their master, rather than their slave. I am here to guide you; I am here to support you, to ensure that there is no one who will harm you."

"I know that, Dr. Nolan," I whispered, tearing my eyes away from his and concentrating my gaze on my hands, while I did my best to keep my tears at bay. "And I want to be strong, I want to bring my fear under control, but I just can't go past that point today…I just don't have it in me today."

I knew that he wouldn't argue with me. I knew that he would see my tears and he would back off of me, and sure enough, that was just what he did. He took a deep breath and settled back into his chair, setting his right ankle on his knee in a manner that conveyed that he was relaxed, which meant that I ought to do the same.

"Alright, Francine, let's desensitize a bit, shall we? I want you to remember the moment when you felt the light on your face. Where did the light come from?"

I remembered that moment, valiantly ignoring all that had come before that. "Tuck came running up to me, holding a flashlight in his hand, and the light washed across my face. It scared Damian Tyler away, it chased away all of the shadows, and showed me that there was hope, that there was someone there to help me."

I could hear his voice in my ear, begging me to stay with him, pleas that were liberally laced with lurid cursing that was unlike any language I'd ever heard him use before, or since, that moment. His hands had been wonderfully strong and warm as they lifted me from the floor and he'd held me close, he'd held me tight, and I had melted into him, concentrating on his voice and on the steady and slightly frantic beating of his heart as it thundered beneath my ear.

"And what happened then, Francine?" Dr. Nolan asked, bringing me back to the here and now, though I would have been perfectly content to stay as I was, wrapped tightly in the arms of the man that I loved. "What happened after you saw the light?"

I felt myself smile, a trembling sort of beam that was a perfect match for the shakiness of my breathing. "Then Tuck saved me," I whispered, my voice cracking as the first of the tears that I'd held back trickled down my cheek. "Just like I knew he would."


	5. Chapter Five

Chapter Five

Frankie's POV

It had finally happened, the one thing that I'd dreamed of and hoped for, ever since I laid eyes on Tuck for the first time. We were on a date, an official, genuine date, a night spent eating at a nice restaurant, followed by a movie, and then, hopefully, a kiss goodnight beneath my porch light. It was perfect, it was just what I wanted, all that I had known it would be, or, that is, it _would_ have been, had we not been on a double date with FDR and Lauren.

FDR was my partner, just as much as he was Tuck's, and I couldn't help but like him, even though he was annoying and childish and very narcissistic, but that didn't mean that I wanted him around, now that I was experiencing that whole "dream come true" thing. And my reservations over his presence had _nothing_ on the way that I hated Lauren being there. She was sweet and smiley, friendly and outgoing and bubbly…and I absolutely and positively loathed her.

It was ridiculous of me to feel the way that I did, I recognized that fact, I knew it, hell, I even accepted it, but that didn't stop me from despising her, did it? The worst part of it was the realization that my dislike for her was solely based on what had transpired between her and Tuck in the past. It was bad enough, the knowledge that he had wanted her, that he had kissed her and held her, that he'd intended to make love to her, but a million times worse was knowing that she had broken his heart when she chose FDR instead of him, that was the thing that made me want to yank each and every golden hair out of her perfect head, but somehow, magically, I'd managed to resist the urge, but how long would my resolve hold out?

I kept reminding myself that it was to my advantage that she had ripped his heart from his chest, tossed it into the blender and shredded it into oblivion, because if she hadn't, he would be her husband, and that baby in her tummy would belong to him, and that would be pure hell for me. I suppose that it was just my protective nature that had me boiling with rage every time I looked at her…well, that, and the fact that she was perfect in every way.

I felt like a cavewoman gnawing on a brontosaurus leg while she was all daintiness and grace while she nibbled on her meal of diver clams, accompanied by fava beans, morels, manila clams and a hazelnut emulsion. Granted, my own meal was just as fancy schmancy as hers was, a filet of prime beef, with a truffled potato mousseline and a madeira jus, but that didn't stop me from feeling downright inelegant and awkward in her presence, and I started to think, not for the first time either, that I might have made a mistake when I agreed to join their group…..

"You're awfully quiet," a voice whispered in my ear, drawing me from my critical thoughts with a start, which, unfortunately, caused me to jump, which, in turn, made me drop a forkful of beef, liberally dipped in the jus. Thankfully the bite dropped to the floor, as opposed to landing in my lap, which would have been more humiliation than I could have managed at that moment, given my fragile state, but that didn't stop me from mourning the loss of that one bite, and I might have glared at the one who'd startled me, at the very least, had it been anyone but Tuck, but how could I possibly get mad at him when he insisted on smiling at me the way that he was?

FDR was smiling as well, that particular grin that he possessed that always set my teeth on edge. Lauren was telling him to leave me alone, but she couldn't have been too concerned with whether or not he was acting like a jackass, given that she was hiding a smile of her own the whole time, and I couldn't help but feel a little zing of wicked pleasure when I saw that she had dropped a fava bean on her shirt, one that was smeared with hazelnut, so that it stuck in place.

Our waiter, who was apparently drawn by the noise, was headed our way with his nose in the air and a look of outright displeasure on his face, and I bent to clean up my mess, as gracefully as possible, before he could chastise me, but unfortunately Tuck had the same idea and our heads crashed together and left me seeing stars and hearing a smattering of laughter, courtesy of FDR, the colossal king of peckerwoods.

"Geez, Frankenstein, we can't take you anywhere, can we?" Franklin asked with a chuckle. "Is this the first time that you've used cutlery, is that why you're having such a hard time? I'm sure that it would be much easier for you, if you were to use your fingers, but I'm afraid that the proprietors of this fine establishment frown on that sort of behavior."

I told myself that killing him would be a bad idea, I reminded myself that shedding his blood would be a huge faux pas, one that would make everything else that I'd done up to that point seem positively harmless in comparison, but he wouldn't stop laughing at me, and my temper was growing in time with my humiliation, and I couldn't help but think that murdering him was just what I needed to feel better.

"That was incredibly rude of you, and I think that you ought to apologize right now," Lauren told him, in a tone that sounded sincere, but that didn't stop me from taking pleasure in the fact that she still had that fava bean stuck to her shirt, did it? "It takes a lot of nerve to talk about someone else and their supposed lack of social grace, when you're behaving like a juvenile boy who's stuck in the body of a grown man, doesn't it, _Franklin_?"

It was common knowledge that FDR enjoyed being called _Franklin_ as much as I enjoyed being addressed as _Francine_. I don't think that his abhorrence of his given name was quite as bad as mine was toward _Frankenstein_, but it was enough that it gave me a warm feeling deep inside, to witness, firsthand, the ugly red flush that swept over his throat and his ears, but that had nothing on the glowing happiness that I felt a few moments later, when Tuck took him to task for the way that he was acting.

At first I wasn't even aware of what he was doing, I was still caught up in my own embarrassment, and my anger toward FDR, not to mention the annoyance of the waiter standing off to the side of the table, sighing and calling loudly for a busboy to clean up the mess that I had made. I was too busy fighting back the urge to burst into tears at first to notice him moving toward our partner, but then I saw him, and marveled at the look of furious determination that was on his face, thankful that it was a glare that wasn't aimed in my direction, because if it had been, I would have been too scared to appreciate it as much as I was.

One moment FDR was having a great time at my expense, grinning like a jackass and making one stupid remark after another, and then before he could wrap his head around what was about to happen he was wearing his dinner, and I do mean that literally, when I say that he was wearing it, because Tuck had grabbed his plate off of the table and dumped it over his head. Needless to say, his grin died in a heartbeat, and he didn't have anything to say that poked fun at me, and it was another one of those glowing moments, to watch his supper as it dripped down off of his head and spattered on the shirt that had been perfectly pristine not a minute before.

Mmm…duck breast hadn't seemed all that appetizing to me before, especially not paired with foie gras, but it wasn't much of a stretch on my imagination to know that it had to have tasted much better when it was on the plate, and not mingling and marrying with the product that FDR slathered in his hair. Apple and date chutney poured down his cheeks, and there was some coconut madras curry sauce that was almost dripping down into his eyes, which made the way that he was glaring appear particularly sinister in nature. I could see that he was ready to unleash his fury on Tuck, and I knew that he had every right to do so, given that he'd just been turned into a human serving tray, but that didn't mean that I didn't take a wicked sense of pleasure in seeing him denied of that privilege, I can promise you that.

"Now you do not have to bother with cutlery, Franklin," Tuck told him, almost cheerfully, as he reached into his back pocket and retrieved his wallet, dropping a hundred dollar bill on the table like it was a five. "All that you need to do is reach up and pick out the yummy bits with your fingers, though I would be careful if I were you, because the proprietors of this establishment are certain to frown upon that sort of behavior, wouldn't you agree?"

* * *

A man sits in the back of the theater, his eyes trained on a couple sitting closer to the front, wishing that he could see her face clearly in the dark. He knows that he did not mark up her face that night, he could remember every stroke of his knife, and he had been careful to leave that part of her unblemished, because he had found that she had a prettiness about her, even if she wasn't the sort of woman that he would normally be drawn to. But he'd been interrupted, he hadn't been able to make her his, the way that he'd wanted to, she was a loose end…and there was nothing that he hated more, than to know that he'd left something undone.

He recognized the one who was sitting next to her and a red-hot bolt of anger stabbed through him, it consumed him, and it was all that he could do, to stay where he was, to be patient and wait for the perfect moment to make itself known to him. The man sitting beside her, the one who was just as aroused and self-conscious as she was, was the one who'd came to her rescue, the one who'd cried when he thought that she was dead, the one who'd pleaded with her to stay, the one who'd professed his love. He was the reason that there was failure, when what transpired ought to have been perfection. He was the one who'd ruined everything, and he would have to be made to pay for his transgressions…no…he _would_ pay the price for what he'd done; the only questions that remained were when and where?

_Wouldn't it be perfect_, he thought to himself, _to wait until he was with her, that way they could both be taken, together, but not until they were made to suffer together, to witness one another's shame and agony_? Yes, that would be an instant that would make up for the disappointment of the past, that would make him happy, one that would fill that empty and angry spot deep inside of him. He just had to be patient, he had to take his time and build the suspense, and then, when the moment was right, he would have them both and everything would be right with the world once more.

* * *

Tuck's POV

I wasn't one who had a knack for poetry, I'd never been the sort who would bother to try to weave pretty words in an effort to get into a woman's knickers, and I wasn't going to do that now, but I was tempted. The glow of the porch light seemed to surround her, it accentuated her eyes, and drew my attention to her lips again and again, but I knew that it wasn't the light that was drawing me to her. I wasn't a moth, and she wasn't a flame, but she was bringing me closer and closer, she was charming me, and daring me to cast all caution to the wind and touch my lips to hers, to give in to the temptation that I'd miraculously held at bay up until now…all without speaking a word.

I wanted to kiss her goodnight, truth be told, that was not all that I wanted to do, but I didn't dare give in my temptations. I wasn't supposed to kiss her, or hold her, or want or love her, but that didn't stop me from feeling the way that I did, did it? My blood was pumping very fast, and no matter how hard I tried, I just couldn't ignore the lure of her mouth, I couldn't stop thinking about how good she smelled, and of how soft and warm she would be in my arms, but it was not meant to be, was it, and even if it hadn't been forbidden, why would she want me, now that she knew what a pervert I was?

I had thanked God, to begin with, that our double date had ended. I had thanked God that I didn't have to endure the torment of the film that I'd foolishly chosen with FDR and Lauren looking on, because it had been bad enough to go through it with Frankie sitting beside me. I had felt the warmth of her arm pressed against mine, and it hadn't been much of a stretch of my imagination to think of the breast that was resting right beneath that arm, the breast that I'd known, God, yes, that I'd known was so much prettier than the one that had been experiencing an extreme close-up on the screen in front of us at that moment, the small, perky breast, the one that had possessed an equally perky nipple, which kept disappearing into the mouth of that guy that she'd just met not five minutes before.

I didn't know if it had ever occurred to Frankie that I'd gotten a glimpse of her bare breasts on that terrifying night, and if she hadn't, I had hoped that the realization wouldn't dawn on her while we watched the man on the screen run the flat of his tongue over his conquest's nipple, teasing the apex with the tip of his tongue, before he drew it into his mouth and suckled upon it, all while she writhed in his arms and let loose with a shuddering gasp every five seconds or so. It was moments like those, when things were tense enough, and didn't need any help to make them even more awkward, that you didn't want an epiphany to occur, and thankfully, it hadn't…at least, it hadn't for _her_.

I was the one who'd had a realization hit me like a ton of bricks, I was the one who'd had the breath knocked out of my body, and that was because she'd shown me something that I would have never believed was possible. I'd been too busy cursing myself for picking a film that I'd foolishly believed was an action tinged romance, when the reality was that it was a very mediocre shoot 'em up feature with T & A that was the caliber and frequency to qualify it as vanilla porn with players who could _almost_ act. That was why I'd expected her to be disgusted with me, as a matter of fact, I wouldn't have been the least bit surprised if she'd decided to leave in a huff, so imagine my surprise when she stayed right where she was…and proceeded to become completely and very noticeably aroused by the action onscreen.

I guess that I'd always assumed that women didn't respond to the same things that turned a man on. After all, we were simple creatures, we were content with the merest hint of breast, of ass, and, most definitely, of the shadowy cleft that rested between a woman's thighs, but who would have ever thought that a woman would respond to the sensory overload that had been playing out on that screen? Who would have believed that she would react so thoroughly to a man and a woman coming together? I certainly wouldn't have thought it was possible, so imagine my surprise, and my delight, and my disbelief and my pleasure, when I found out just how responsive she truly was.

She leaned into me, following the action onscreen with wide, rapt eyes, and nibbled upon her bottom lip when she saw the man slip his huge hand into the woman's knickers, harder and harder while she watched him trace his lovers' femininity with fingers that were more like sausages, huge, limber sausages, that knew the way to touch a woman to make her gasp and moan. I could remember thinking that she wasn't aware of what she was doing, and that was why she had laid her head on my shoulder, and leaned over me, to curl her fingertips into my shirt, her breath warm and fast while the man used his finger to bring the woman to orgasm, a moment that filled the screen with the image of her tossing about, back and forth, on the bed, while the theater was filled with her shrieks of ecstasy.

Frankie had stayed just as she had been at that moment throughout the entire, ahem, _love_ scene, from the foreplay to the act itself, through all of the squeaking bedsprings and the grunts and groans and cries. The only thing that had changed was that she had slipped her fingertips through the opening in my shirt, tracing them over my chest, playing with the hair that she found, working it about with her fingernails, and when it was over, when the last pant had faded, she raised herself in her chair and touched her lips to my throat, then moved back to her own seat, as if nothing out of the ordinary, nothing that was absolutely mind-blowing and arousing had just happened, and left me to suffer alone in my own chair, when what I'd really wanted was to pull her onto my lap and…..

"I had a really good time, Tuck," she said quietly, pulling me from my lustful and unfulfilled reveries with a start. "I hope that we can do this again sometime."

Hmm…I did as well, I really, _really_ hoped that we could, but what I wanted even more was to kiss her goodnight. Well, the truth was that I wanted a good deal more than that, but a kiss would have been enough for me. It was something that I'd wanted for so long, it was a desire that had taken hold of me and wouldn't let go, but I didn't dare give in to that need…did I?

"I want to thank you for taking up for me in the restaurant," she continued, when I failed to answer her. "And I hope that I wasn't too, hmm, well, that is, I, er, hope that I wasn't too _forward_ in the theater….._oomph_."

I must have lost my mind completely, there was no other explanation for my actions, but whatever the reason, whether it made sense or not, I was obliged to draw her into my arms and kiss her. I took my time, and poured four months' worth of wanting and longing and loving into that first kiss, even though it wasn't going to be the only one that we shared, not if I had anything to say about it.

She was still for just a moment, shocked, I suppose, by my actions, but then she pressed herself against me and wound her arms around my neck, kissing me with all that she had, and I felt a shiver course through me, tingling and warm, when I had my second epiphany of the night. It was the realization that she felt the same way about me that I felt about her, and it was heady knowledge, wisdom that encouraged me to deepen the kiss, to part her lips with the tip of my tongue, to taste and tantalize, and allow her to mesmerize me even further, until we were both breathless and starry-eyed.

"You weren't too forward, Frankie," I murmured, rubbing the tip of her nose with mine. "As a matter of fact, you were just right."


	6. Chapter Six

Chapter Six

Tuck's POV

_Her lips were soft and plump, and they pressed against mine in a way that said that they'd been made to do just that. She put her hands on my shoulders while she kissed me, and ran her fingers through my hair when I ran my tongue around her mouth, twining the strands of my hair while I twirled my tongue with hers, while I tasted and teased her, until we were both swept up in a rush of warmth and thumping hearts and shaky breaths, and we….._

"Would you like to give us your opinion, Tuck, or is there something more pressing on your mind?"

Damn…Collins was looking at me, no, check that. She was _glaring_ at me; with that look in her eyes that said that my bum was just seconds away from being chewed, no, make that very viciously gnawed upon. Her hands were balled into fists and resting on her hips and her foot was tapping out a furious rhythm on the floor. All of these things said that she was cross, very much so, and my mind raced as I searched for something that I could say, anything, that might keep her from going for my bollocks once she'd finished with my bum.

"Give you my opinion on what, ma'am?"

Well, hell. I'd meant to dig myself out of the hole that I was in, not bury myself even deeper, but why was I surprised that I'd managed to put myself more firmly into the line of fire? This was the sort of trouble that a man tended to find himself mired in when he was all wrapped up in a woman, and God knows that I was wrapped up in Frankie, hell, I was consumed by my need for her, I was possessed by her and mesmerized by her and…..

"On the meaning of life, Tuck," Collins answered sarcastically, in a tone that promised imminent bum chewing. "On the state of the world, and our place in it, on whether a person ought to drink Coke or Pepsi, or make the toilet paper flow off of the roll under or over…Damn it, Hansen! What have I been talking about all this time? What is our main objective, what is _your_ main objective?"

The first thought that came to my mind was the one that said that kissing Frankie was my main objective, but I knew that was the wrong answer, and, fortunately for me, I caught the mistake before the words left my mouth, and avoided the awkward, not to mention painful, moment when Collins decided to bypass my arse altogether and go straight for my balls instead. That being said, I couldn't think of the right answer, no matter how hard I tried, and FDR's smirks and barely stifled giggles weren't helping me remember it any faster either, that was for damned sure.

_Cough._ "Berlin," Frankie whispered, shifting in her seat, so that her mouth, God, help me, was resting beside my ear. _Cough, cough_. "The illegal arms market we've been tracking." _Cough, cough, cough._ "Brothel called Gentlemen's Choice."

Her throat had to have been getting pretty sore from all that coughing, and I was getting an erection, right there, as if my damned willie didn't realize that an uprising at this time might very well be all the provocation that Collins would need to ensure that I was never able to, ahem, _rise_ to the occasion ever again. It was something that simply couldn't be helped, not when Frankie insisted on brushing her lips against my earlobe, and I crossed my legs, and grimaced in discomfort, as I did my best to mask my stiffening flesh, and when that didn't work I clutched the folder that Collins had given me at the beginning of the meeting against my crotch, which undoubtedly looked a little strange, but which I was sure was better than being caught displaying my own private insurrection, wouldn't you agree?

"Do you need a lozenge, Miss Trent?" Collins snapped, zeroing her gaze, make that, her _glare_, on Frankie, who shrank back away from me, to the confines of her own seat, and promptly broke out in a blush. "Or have you finished coughing the details to your partner and are therefore in no immediate danger of any further fits of hacking?"

I heard FDR snicker and gave him a look that I imagined would rival Collins' in ferocity, but he simply rolled his eyes and looked away from me. There was a part of me that couldn't believe that he was still indulging the pout that he'd undoubtedly carried with him ever since Frankie and I had left the restaurant last night, but the larger part of me, the one that knew him so well, wasn't really all that surprised, annoyed, and just a little disgusted yes, but not surprised.

"I'm fine now, ma'am," Frankie answered, shifting uneasily in her chair until Collins took pity on her and concentrated her gaze, and her censure, on another target, which, I was delighted to note, was FDR. "And I wasn't really supplying Tuck with the details, ma'am, I was simply prompting his memory, so that he would remember what he already knew, that's all."

I couldn't turn and gape at her, not without drawing the attention of both Collins and Franklin, but I watched her out of the corner of my eye with something that might have been called awe, with a healthy dose of appreciation thrown in as well. She had just placed herself in Collins' sights on purpose, for me, and damned if my heart didn't flip-flop about in my chest in response to her show of devotion to me.

"There's no need for you to take a bullet for your colleague, Miss Trent," Collins said, in a tone that was menacingly quiet, the sort that she usually used just moments before she launched into a full-scale tirade. "Mr. Hansen hasn't been paying attention to a word that I've said. I know that, you know that, and _he_ knows that, and you ought to allow him to answer for his own transgressions, rather than using yourself as a shield to shelter him from what he has brought upon himself, wouldn't you agree, _Mr. Foster_?"

FDR, the smug bastard, had been having a good deal of fun at my expense, and Frankie's as well, all while believing himself to be safe from Collins' censure, because he was sitting behind her, but he had forgotten that the Boss had eyes in the back of her head, hadn't he? I suppose that I could have indulged in a laugh of my own, and Frankie could have as well, all things considered, but we both knew better than to do so, given the depth of the trouble that we were already in. It was just unfortunate that she was in hot water because of me. It pleased me that she was willing to protect me, and that was putting it mildly, but I was the one who was supposed to protect _her_, not the other way around.

"Of course I agree, Chief," Franklin said, hands scrambling over his notes; mind whirring as he struggled to find the answers that he knew he would need in the pile of papers that were resting on his lap. "I make it a habit to concur with everything that you say, because I know that it will be right and I….."

"Cut the damned crap, Foster!" Collins roared, and we all jumped in our chairs, even though we'd known that it was only a matter of time before she exploded. "I'm inclined to believe that the only one in this room who's been listening to one word that's come out of my mouth is Miss Trent, and that's quite an accomplishment on her part, given the fact that she hasn't stopped staring at Mr. Hansen for half a second, isn't it, Mr. Foster?"

Well, bugger me blind and deaf. I had long ago accepted the fact that Franklin was shortsighted when it came to the thoughts and feelings of others. Truth be told, he had tunnel vision where anything other than his own life and the things that directly affected him were concerned, but that had worked to my advantage where Frankie was concerned. FDR gave her enough of a hard time, and he was a big enough pain in my bollocks when he _hadn't_ noticed the sparks that flew between Frankie and me, but even he wasn't so dense to miss what Collins had just said, and I knew that I was in for it now that he knew, and, even worse, Frankie was as well.

"What the hell, Tuck?" he asked angrily, his eyes switching from me to Frankie, then back to me. "Am I or am I not your best friend, yet you let me make an ass of myself, going on and on about you and that blonde, Missy, from Human Resources, only to find out that the skirt that you've been chasing belongs to…_Frankenstein_? Really, Tuck? Are you honestly going to sit there and tell me that you're hot for her…geez…that's practically incestuous, you know?"

I wanted to lay into him, I wanted to lay my hands _on_ him, and not in a way that could even remotely be described as friendly, but Collins restrained me with a hand on my shoulder, a hand that was surprisingly strong. "I know that it's a tempting prospect, Hansen, but you'd regret it in the end. God only knows _why_ you would, but I'm pretty sure that you would….."

I knew that she said more to me, I could hear her speaking to me in the background, but I was too distracted by the look that was on Frankie's face to pay any attention to her. In the past I would have worried about Collins chewing my bum, and, if I was really unlucky, my balls, but now I was contemplating that it might be Frankie that I needed to worry about instead.

At first, I assumed that she was glaring at me because of FDR, and that she intended her glower as a sign that I ought to maim him, no matter what the Boss had to say, but then she opened her mouth, and I realized that I had a whole new reason to kick Franklin's ass, and I vowed that I would do so before the day was through, no matter what the consequences for my actions would prove to be.

"Missy from Human Resources, huh?" she said softly, in the same tone that Collins used, before all hell broke loose. "It sounds like you've been busy, haven't you, Tuck?"

Frankie's POV

Oh, God. I'd made a fool of myself, a complete and utter fool, and a jealous one at that. What right did I have to be envious of another woman in his life? I suppose that there were those who would remind me that he _had_ kissed me, and as such I had some expectation that he wasn't kissing anyone else, but the truth of the matter was that he hadn't made me any promises, and I couldn't expect him to stay away from other women, if there was no understanding between us…could I?

"You're damned right I can," I murmured, twisting open the bottle of Tylenol that I kept in my medicine cabinet, shaking two into my hand. I put the bottle up and slammed the door shut, then tossed the pills into my mouth and downed them with a big gulp of water…that I nearly spewed all over the mirror, when I saw what had been written on the glass in my lipstick.

**YOU'D BE LIKE HEAVEN TO TOUCH…I WANT TO HOLD YOU SO MUCH**

My knees felt wobbly and weak and I barely had time to set the glass down on the side of the sink before I slowly sank down to the floor. My heart was pounding, my mind was racing, and it took every last ounce of my willpower to make myself take deep breaths, against the instinct to hold them inside. I couldn't say for certain how long I sat there, frozen and dumbfounded, before I forced myself onto my feet, then out of the door, to retrieve my camera, but it had been long enough that my legs had fallen asleep, and the resulting pins and needles made each step hell, but I forced myself to keep going.

I took pictures of the message, several of them, in different lights, to ensure that I got at least one good one, and then I slid a pair of latex gloves onto my hands and retrieved the lipstick that he'd used, a brand-new tube of Spice is Nice, and placed it into an evidence bag. I was shaken up, to be perfectly honest I was terrified, but that didn't stop me from bitching about the fact that he'd skipped over my used tubes to grab the pristine one, the one that was still in its box…the one that had cost me twenty bucks.

I overcame my burst of frugal indignation and allowed myself to wallow in the choking fear that I'd managed to hold at bay for just a moment. In days past, the terror would have crippled me for hours, but today I felt just a tiny bit stronger than I normally did. Maybe it was because I'd allowed my jealousy to bring my temper to life, and there was just enough anger left in my system to keep some of the panic at bay. Maybe I was finally healing, and could handle things better, because I was on the path back to where I had been before that night. Either way, the shakes and the tears seized hold of me, just as they always did, but less than an hour passed me by this time, and then I was able to throw myself into the chore of cleaning up the mess that _he_ had made, of erasing him, once more, from my life.

I was exhausted when I finished, even though it was only eight o'clock, and I was also starving, surprisingly enough, given the shakiness of my nerves. I stripped out of the clothes that I'd worn to work, and put on my favorite black tank top and a pair of Simpsons boxer shorts, and was headed for the kitchen to assemble a late supper when a knock at the door stopped me dead in my tracks and made my heart beat furiously, from newfound fear, until a voice followed the knock, and replaced my anxiety with a thrill of excitement, which annoyed me, and that brought on a bolt of irritation that overshadowed my fright altogether, and almost wiped away my delight as well, almost, but not quite.

"Frankie, it's me, Tuck. I need to talk to you. I need to explain things to you. Will you let me come in, please?"

I stared at the door, unsure of what I ought to do, while I tried, and failed, to ignore the little voice inside my head that urged me to let him in. _I'm mad at him, remember_? I reminded myself. _Why should I let him in, and give him a chance to make me forget that, hmm_? It was a sound argument, there was no doubting that, and there was a part of me that said that I ought to listen to my advice, that I ought to ignore him and pretend that he didn't exist, but the stronger part of me argued in his defense and threatened to wear me down.

"I'm not going to leave until you've spoken to me," he called, lightly knocking his knuckles against my door. "I know that you're angry with me, but that doesn't mean that you are justified in giving me the silent treatment, especially when I haven't done anything to deserve it. Please, Frankie, give me a chance to tell you the truth, please?"

My heart softened somewhat when I heard the pleading note in his voice, at the same time that my temper flared when I heard him say that I was unwarranted in ignoring him. I don't know which side of my warring feelings pushed me toward the door, but I was fairly certain that it was my anger that had me opening it, given the way that it bounced off of the wall with a resounding crash. I stood there, fuming, for a moment, staring at him, and he met my gaze directly, never flinching or looking away, and then he rushed toward me and drew me into his arms.

I was pathetically easy, there was no other way to describe the effect that he had on me, that I would be fuming one moment, just seconds before, but now I was melting into his embrace like I'd never been mad at him at all. My arms wound around his neck, my hands plunged into his hair, I pressed my body tight against his, and his shuddering inhalation, then, moments later, exhalation, raised goosebumps all over my body.

"I've never even spoken to Missy in Human Resources," he said, running his hand over my back, reminding me that I was wearing a skimpy tank top, with no bra, which meant that my unrestrained breasts were pressed against his chest. "FDR saw her look at me one day and got the idea in his pea brain that she and I would make a perfect couple, but I never even looked her way, so, no, I have _not_ been _busy_ with her…I promise you that, Frankie."

The hand that was stroking my back was gentle…and bold. It moved up, to squeeze the nape of my neck, then down my spine, further and further, until it rested on my waist, and then, even lower, to caress my backside. I'd been breathing in tiny sighs, punctuated every now and then with a gasp, and the sighs and the gasps turned to a whimper, and a call, very softly, of his name, when I felt the warmth of his hand stroking over, then grasping hold, of my butt.

"I had no business getting mad at you," I said breathlessly, pressing myself against him as tightly as I could. "I had no right to be jealous, I had no business feeling hurt or betrayed, because you don't belong to me and….."

"The hell I don't," he said, almost growled, moving his face away from my neck, to give me every last bit of intensity that was in his eyes, while he used his hold on my backside to caress me against the hardness that had sprung to life in his pants. "Do you think this is something that happens by accident, baby? That hasn't happened since I was thirteen, it doesn't happen unless I want it to, except when I'm around you, and then it is a constant thing, to the point where I can't think straight, or pay attention to anything but you."

I groaned and turned my face, so that I could press my lips against his throat, drawing in his scent and letting it fill me. "I know what you mean," I whispered, feeling both dizzy and dazed. "You make me ache inside, in my heart, when you smile at me, or say my name, or hold me in your arms while I sleep, and between my thighs, a fluttering shiver, when I smell you, or brush up against you, or feel your eyes on me…and especially when you hold me the way that you are right now, and kiss me until I can't even remember my own name….."

Oh, dear God, I was babbling, and, even worse, I was spilling secrets that were definitely better kept to myself. Granted, he'd shared his tendency to get an erection whenever I was nearby, but did that mean that I had to tell him that he did the same thing to me, well, that is, that I experienced the female equivalent. I had a split-second to feel regret for being such a loudmouth, but then I heard him take a deep breath, one that left him in a growl, and I forgot my blushing face, and concentrated all of my attention on my nipples, that were growing harder and harder against his chest, and the aching between my legs, which was becoming almost painfully acute, as the flesh there grew hot and swollen and wet for him.

"It sounds like you belong to me, the way that I belong to you, doesn't it, Frankie?" he asked softly, rubbing his hand up my back, joining with the other, to take my face between his palms. He stared down into my eyes, and moved so that he bumped up against me in a way that made me whimper deep in my throat. "And I don't ever do anything to make you mad on purpose, and there's no reason for you to be jealous, even though I can't help but feel a little bit of a, well, a _thrill_, knowing that you feel possessive of me. But if that comes at the price of me hurting you, or making you believe that I have betrayed you, well, I will do anything and everything that I can to make sure that you never….."

"Are you ever going to kiss me, Tuck?" I asked, knowing that it was rude of me to interrupt him, not to mention difficult, for me, because he was saying such sweet things to me, but doing so none the less, because my impatience for a taste of him was quickly trumping everything else. "That will make everything better, there will be no more doubts or fears in my mind, if you would just….."

His lips met mine, silencing me in an instant, with a kiss that was gentle and searching, but commanding as well, and filled with all of the feelings that he'd conveyed to me with his words, and the touch of his hands, as well as the rest of his body, upon my flesh. For several moments he contented himself, and me as well, with a meeting of mouths, long, slow draws that heated my blood even further, and then he set me on fire, from the top of my head to the tips of my toes, when I felt his tongue tracing a path along the seam of my lips, asking to be allowed inside, and I eagerly opened my mouth and let him in.

His tongue swept into my mouth, and caressed its way all around, tasting me in a way that had me clinging tightly to him, and hooking one of my feet around his legs, to draw him in even further, to press him closer against me. I felt him pushed snug against my ache, and that emboldened me, and I curled the tip of my tongue, like a cat taking a sip of milk, against the bottom of his tongue, and then I drew his bottom lip into my mouth, and gave it a nibble, and it was my time to be thrilled, because I heard him moan, and then he growled and dipped his knees, and dropped his hands beneath my butt, so that he could lift me up off of the floor and into his arms.

I wasn't very experienced where men were concerned, but I knew enough to know where he meant to carry me, and what he meant to do to me, once he had me there, and it sounded like the best idea that I'd ever heard, I was ready, willing and able to do everything that he had in mind…but then my stomach had to go and spoil the mood.

I'd been a little too preoccupied by the roller coaster of emotions that I'd run through since I'd opened my front door and let him inside to remember how hungry, for food, I was, but the growling sound from my stomach reminded me at the worst possible moment, and, even worse than that, he'd heard it as well and stopped kissing me. It was enough to make me feel like crying, even though I didn't, though I was able to take solace, not matter how small, in the fact that he looked just as dejected, and frustrated, as I felt.

"It sounds like you skipped dinner, Frankie," he said softly, in a tone that was rougher than usual, and made a shiver course through me, concentrating itself in that aching place that was driving me out of my mind.

"No, I'm fine, there's no reason for you to worry about that," I said, desperately denying his words, a lie that was destroyed when my tummy rumbled loudly, and nearly drowned out my words.

"Well, I haven't eaten either, and I'm very hungry," he said, words that were perfectly innocent on the surface, but which made my pulse race just the same. "Why don't you show me what you've got, and I'll whip us up something that will make us both happy, so we can pick up where we left off…how does that sound to you?"


	7. Chapter Seven

Chapter Seven

Frankie's POV

He walked slowly to the kitchen, wincing with each step, as if doing so was painful, which, I suppose it was, because of the swelling that was tenting out the front of his pants, the one that I just couldn't help but rub against every now and then. It wasn't that I was torturing him on purpose, I wasn't a woman given to teasing a man, but he seemed to be of the opinion that I was deliberately driving him crazy. He was muttering under his breath, something about me trying to kill him, and I might have laughed at him, but I didn't want to upset him, and kept my giggles to myself, that is, I did my best to do so, but a snort escaped me despite my best efforts.

"Oh, this is funny to you, is it?" he asked softly, and a little menacingly, a tone that suggested that I was very close to getting myself in serious trouble, one that said that I was flirting with danger, as a matter of fact. "This is your fault, you know, and as such you really ought to sympathize with me, instead of having a little laugh at my expense."

I tried to be serious, and sympathetic, but how could I keep from giving in to the need to laugh when he was practically pouting, for goodness' sake? Did he really think that he was the only one who was feeling frustrated? Didn't he know about the effect that he had on me, about the fact that he'd held sway over me and drove me out of my mind, ever since I'd met him?

"I'm sorry, Tuck, I'm not laughing because I want to make fun of you," I explained, biting back another giggle when he lowered his eyebrows even further, and pooched his pretty bottom lip out, like a little boy who was on the verge of throwing a fit. "It's just that you look so cute when you pout….."

"I'm _not_ pouting...and you _are_ making fun of me."

It must have dawned on him that his words were childish, and only furthered my declaration that he was pouting, given the way that he was blushing. It wasn't a blatant flush, just the tiniest hint of pink on his cheeks, but I could see it, and for some reason it made a shiver of awareness race through me, one that stood out above the warmth and the aching that he'd already brought to life within me. Maybe that was what made me more talkative about things that would have been better kept to myself, or maybe I was just feeling particularly empowered, because everything that I'd wanted for so long was finally within my reach. Either way, I opened my mouth and started babbling, and then I was the one who was blushing, though my flush was a hell of a lot darker than a delicate shade of pink.

"How can this be my fault, when you were the one who kissed me?" I asked, taking advantage of the fact that he was flustered by slipping my hands up to his head, so that I could run my fingers through his hair. "Wouldn't that mean that the blame lies with you?"

He stopped in his tracks, at the foot of the island that was in the center of my kitchen, and stared at me as if he couldn't believe what I'd just said. "You want to play games, hmm?" he asked, hefting me up, so that I was sitting on the edge of the hard, wooden surface of the island. "Alright, Frankie, I'll play along. Your argument is somewhat relevant, I suppose, but I would have to bring up the fact that you _asked_ me to kiss you…wouldn't that mean that _you_ are the one who is to blame, and not me?"

Damn, I hadn't thought my argument out as well as I ought to have, had I? Of course, I suppose that I had every right to be a little scatterbrained, given the events of the night, hell, of the entire day, and besides which, my mind had a tendency to be completely useless whenever he was around anyway. It was even worse now, knowing that he was very aroused, and that he was that way because of little ol' me, which meant that he thought that I was sexy, and that he wanted me, that he liked me…maybe even more than plain old like, am I right?

"Well, maybe it _is_ my fault then," I agreed, taking a deep breath when he moved toward me, so that he was standing between my legs, placing a hand on one of my knees, and then the other, so that he could move them apart and make a place for himself. "But you're just feeling this now, at this minute, and that is nothing when you compare it with all of the times that you have tortured me, is it….?"

Well, hell. I hadn't meant to say that out loud. I'd definitely meant to think it, because it was a thought that I'd had ever since I saw the look that came over his face when my stomach rumbled and interrupted us in the living room, but I had never, _ever_, meant to say it to him. That was just another problem with what he did to me, because it seemed that my brain seldom worked the way that I wanted it to when he was around, but it was a problem that I could accept, and even grow fond of, if it meant that he would continue to give me some of what I'd tasted tonight.

He hadn't turned on the overhead light when we'd come into the kitchen, so the only illumination in the room was provided by the small nightlight that I kept next to the sink. His face was bathed in shadows for the most part, but suddenly he leaned forward, so that I could see his eyes, and what I saw there made a shiver course through me, a quivering warmth, that concentrated itself right between my thighs.

"You may think that I was torturing you all of those times, Frankie, but the truth is that I've only begun to torment you," he whispered, bending his head, to nip my bottom lip, very gently, with his teeth. My heart felt like it was galloping in my chest, thumping faster and faster, in time with my breathing, which left me, in a tiny whimper, when he reached out with the tip of his tongue, to lick the spot that he'd just bitten. "I've given you fair warning of my intentions and now's the time to tell me if I need to stop, if that's not what you want, my lovely."

Oh, God. His mouth was on my neck, kissing its way up and down, and then back up again, so that he could nuzzle my ear, and lick, then suck on, my earlobe. This was all that I'd dreamed of, even more than I'd ever dared to imagine would be mine, because he'd called me his lovely. I'd never thought of myself as a woman who was _lovely_, but I had to be, otherwise he never would have said what he had, would he?

That being said, there was something about me that he didn't know about, a personal status, you might say, that was making me very nervous, now that it seemed certain that he meant to strip me bare and have his wicked way with me. I knew that I wanted to give myself over to him, there was no doubt in my mind about that, but what would he think, once he learned the truth about me?

"Hmm…you look like something's bothering you," he said, drawing me out of my thoughts with a start. "It's alright if you say no to me, Frankie. I'm not going to be angry, I promise. I just hope that you trust me enough to tell me the reason why. Have I done something to upset you, or is it just too soon, are we too new to take things to that level?"

He was such a sweetheart. How could Lauren have ever chosen that little weasel over this prime specimen of masculinity? Of course, I was grateful that she was blind or stupid, whichever was the case, just like I couldn't help but be glad that his ex-wife was as well, even with all of the pain that she'd caused him, because now he was mine. I had to allow that one to sink in slowly, because it still didn't seem possible to me that he would want me as much as I wanted him, but there was no denying the way that he felt…not with the sight that greeted me every time that I looked down, not to mention what I could see in his eyes, and hear in every word that he spoke.

"I don't want to say no to you, Tuck," I said, taking a deep breath, and frantically grasping every last bit of courage that I possessed. "Everything inside of me is screaming yes, that it's not too soon, and it's not _we_ that are too new…it's me."

I'd managed to confuse him, that was obvious, which meant that my plan to be oblique, in the hope that he would understand my meaning without me saying the actual words aloud, was for naught. Oh, well. I suppose that there was no getting around the embarrassment that I was feeling at the moment, not at my age, when the reason for my concern ought to have been settled years before, was there?

"What do you mean?" he asked, cementing the fact that he hadn't understood my words at all, which made my self-consciousness even worse, though I was torn between giving into my discomfiture, or to the warmth that wrapped itself around my heart, after he reached out and took hold of my face, very gently, between his palms. "What do you mean that it's you who is too…hmm…Frankie, are you telling me that you're a, hmm, that is, are you saying that you are a….?"

It seemed that I'd been mistaken when I thought that I was blushing earlier, because _this_ was what a blush really and truly felt like. "Virgin," I said softly, trying my best not to meet his eyes, which wasn't easy, given that he was still standing between my legs. "That was the word that you were looking for, and, yes, that's what I am, so you can understand why I'm a little nervous about all of…err…_this_. I guess that I should have told you earlier, shouldn't I've? You probably think that I'm a tease, and I understand if you're mad at me, and don't want to be around me anymore."

I'm not sure how I'd expected him to respond, but I do know that I hadn't expected him to laugh at me. I didn't think that it was very fair of him to make fun of me when I was feeling so vulnerable and ill-at-ease, and besides which, what was so damned hilarious about me being a virgin anyway? I didn't think it was the least bit funny, and I really wouldn't have thought that he'd be amused by the revelation either, so why in the hell was he laughing at me?

I didn't want to throw a fit in front of him, because I was a grown woman, one who was well past the stage of indulging in temper tantrums, but I also wasn't going to sit there and listen to him laugh at me, and that was why I tried to climb down off of the island top with as much dignity as I could muster, but he wouldn't let me go. The big jerk used his body to keep me right where I was, laughing the entire time, of course, until I was beginning to think to myself that kneeing him in the balls might not be such a bad idea, given that he'd left me with no other choice.

"Alright, Frankie, don't get your knickers all in a knot," the inconsiderate lout said, his words slipping out between more laughs, which was adding insult to injury, to say the very least, and that was enough to have me taking aim and readying my knee to fire. "I wasn't laughing at you, Lovely; I was laughing at the notion that I wouldn't want to be around you any longer, when the fact of the matter is that I can't bear to be away from you, not even for a moment."

Damn it, why did he have to ruin what was working up to be one hell of a sulk by saying something sweet to me? "My _knickers_ are none of your damned business, Tuck Hansen," I fumed, pushing against his chest with my hands, but, sadly, it was a halfhearted gesture, at best. "And you have a damned funny way of showing me how crazy you are about me…or is it generally considered the best way to show your interest in someone, by laughing at them for being a virgin, hmm?"

"I guess that I managed to make you pretty _damned_ mad, didn't I, Lovely?" he asked, with a smile on his face, though his laugh was nowhere to be found. "I didn't mean to upset you, Frankie, and, for the last time, I was not laughing at you, you have my promise on that. I don't know what else that I can do to convince you…oh, wait a minute, that's not true…I know _exactly_ what to do, don't I, my tasty little sweet?"

Oh, crap…that didn't sound good; at least, it didn't, as far as my determination to hold him at bay was concerned. On the other hand, it did sound good, amazingly so, as a matter of fact, where my "blind and deaf to anything but him" obsession was concerned…dear me, what was a girl to do?

Tuck's POV

She was a virgin…dear God, how on earth was such a thing possible? I suppose that I just assumed that a beautiful woman would have been romantically entwined with at least one man in her life, thus she would have found herself in situations where she would have been more intimately entwined with said man, so to speak. It scared me, just a bit, to imagine myself as her first lover, yet, at the same time, it was a thought that made me proud, in the most masculine way, to know that I was the only one that she would know in that way, that I was the only man who would ever have the pleasure and the honor of making love to her, at least, I would, if I had anything to say about it.

I wonder if she had any idea at all how the sight of her immersed in a fit of anger made my blood boil in a way that had nothing whatsoever to do with my temper. My arousal grew, until it was almost palpable in the air around us, and it was all that I could do, to keep my hands off of her, but I wasn't going to resist that urge any longer. I knew that it was a risk, to touch her while she was enraged, but this was one instance where I was willing to live dangerously.

I placed my hands on her hips, and pulled her to the edge of the countertop, then moved forward, so that I was resting between her legs, spreading them further apart. She looked at me with eyes that were wide, and, remarkably, were free, for the most part, from the anger that had held sway over them just moments before. I bent my head, very slowly, giving her plenty of time to tell me no, and laid my mouth on hers, softly wooing her, until I felt her relax against me, and then I slid my hands off of her hips, down her thighs, to her knees, then further, to her calves, using one hand at a time, to pull them 'round, until they were twined around my waist.

"We'll take things nice and slow," I told her, hating to leave her lips, even for a moment, so that I could speak to her, and I contented myself with nuzzling her neck with the tip of my nose, so that I wouldn't have to abandon her completely. "There's no need for us to rush, no reason why we shouldn't take baby steps, is there, my lovely?"

I'd been satisfied, to begin with, to nestle my nose against her neck, but it wasn't long before that wasn't enough for me, and I had to taste her with my tongue, small licks, quick laps, until she was moving forward, placing herself against me in ways that made my breath catch in my throat. She sighed, then whimpered, then nodded, and I accepted that as a reply, even though there was a part of me that would have preferred her to answer me with words.

"How would you like to have a little ice cream with me, Frankie?" I asked, moving toward the freezer, which, fortunately, I was able to reach without removing her legs from around my waist. "I know that you're still hungry, and I'm starving, and ice cream sounds delicious, doesn't it?"

As a father, I knew that a dinner of ice cream wasn't responsible, nor was it particularly healthy or nutritious, but as a lover, I knew that the frozen treat was a good way for me to sate our rumbling bellies, and, even better than that, it was something that I could use for one of those baby steps that I'd suggested to her. I could imagine a number of things that I would like to do to her, using ice cream, but I would have to limit myself tonight, I would have to remember to take things nice and slow, no matter how hard it might prove for me to do so, and yes, I _do_ mean that literally.

"Yes," she whispered, locking her eyes onto mine, for just a moment, before she looked away and blushed. My heart started to beat a little faster as I popped open the lid of the carton of Neapolitan ice cream that I'd found, and a wonderful idea came to me as I stared down at the untouched sections of white and brown and pink. I grabbed a spoon from the glass of flatware that she kept on her countertop and scooped up a generous dollop and offered it to her, and then stuck a spoonful into my own mouth…and then, without a word, I slid my hands under her tank top and pulled it up, and off, of her, leaving her wonderfully, and beautifully, bared to my gaze.

To say that I had surprised her was an understatement. Her cheeks darkened to a deep shade of red and she raised her hands, in an effort to cover her breasts, but I stopped her before she could remove them from my sight. "Shh, Lovely, there's no need for you to be shy," I murmured, drawing down her hands and filling my eyes with the sight of her, finding her to be even more beautiful than I could have imagined, so much so that it almost hurt me to look at her, though, I suppose, that could have been from the nearly unbearable tightness of my trousers. "You're exquisite, Frankie, perfectly formed…there's only one thing that's missing, one thing that you need, to make you complete. Let me see what I can do to remedy that, my sweet."

Hmm…of the three choices, vanilla was the most innocent, the one that was proper and reserved, and that made it the perfect choice for her lips. I dipped my finger into its icy, pale depths, hoping, as I did, that Frankie would not be offended by me doing so, and scooped up a small dollop, a tiny bit, really, and spread it all over her mouth, painting it, until it was white. She shivered at the first touch of the cold, a trembling that grew, and made goosebumps rise on her flesh and caused her nipples to stiffen, and she jerked against me, bumping what was very soft against that which was very hard, when she felt the first gentle caress of my tongue as I treated her lips like they were an ice cream cone, tasting her and consuming the sweetness, with one slow lick after another.

The strawberry was next, a bit of pink on my fingertips, which I traced down her throat, and across her clavicle, between her breasts, and over her stomach, and then, once I'd finished with my finger-painting; I bent her back, to rest on the countertop. She was breathing very fast by this point, and her knuckles turned white as she gripped the wooden surface beneath her, so I soothed her, and excited her, by slowly lapping each and every bit of the berry sweetness off of her body. She grew particularly restless when my tongue made its pass between her breasts, and everything inside of me screamed at me to move my mouth to her nipples, but I resisted the urge for the moment, because I wanted chocolate to cover her there before I drew them into my mouth.

"Does that feel good, Lovely?" I asked softly, even though I already knew the answer. Things that didn't feel good to a woman wouldn't make her flush all over, they wouldn't make her raise her hips up in the air, moving in a subtle thrusting motion, as if she was lying beneath a man, with her thighs open, making love to him. She wouldn't whimper and bite her bottom lip, she wouldn't gasp a man's name, and she wouldn't have nipples that were hard, ones that were practically begging my tongue to have a taste of them…would she?

"Mmm-hmm," she murmured, watching my hands closely as I stuck my fingertip into the chocolate, leaving it there for just a moment, until it melted some and stuck to my skin, and then I moved them, very slowly, to her breasts. I smiled at her as I coated her nipples with the cold sweetness, first one, and then the other, a smile that grew, and became somewhat wicked in nature, I would imagine, when I heard her moaning my name.

I straightened a bit, looking down at her, and licked each finger clean, drying them against my pants, before I reached down and took her breast into my hand. It filled it just right, as if it had been made for me, and I took a moment to admire the way that it looked, framed, as it was, and then I bent my head and took one nipple firmly into my mouth, with no toying licks, no lingering laps, I simply consumed it all at once, because I was so eager and raging with my need to taste that part of her.

I found my patience after a few moments, and drew out the experience with the other nipple. I licked it slowly, I teased it and experimented with the tip of my tongue, then with long, drawn-out laps, until she plunged her fingertips into my hair and anchored me in place while she moaned and whimpered and drove me crazy, jerking her hips in the air, unconsciously begging me to slip my hand beneath the waistband of her boxer shorts, and then her panties, to cup my fingers over her possessively…and that was exactly what I did.

She held her breath for a moment, while she stared into my eyes, then she exhaled, in the form a sound that was a cross between a whimper and a growl, when I gently parted her, so that I could touch her in a way that would please us both. Then it was my turn to growl, a deep and appreciative rumble, when I felt how hot she was, how swollen she was…how wet she was, all of which was because of me, all of which was _for_ me.

"That's right, my sweet girl," I whispered when her hips did that shimmy and shake that had been driving me out of my mind. "Just let me touch you. I'll make it all better, I promise. Just trust me, Lovely...lie back and enjoy this, and let me take care of you, pretty please?"


	8. Chapter Eight

Chapter Eight

Tuck's POV

_I could feel the proof of her arousal on my fingers, warm and swollen and wet, and my own desire grew, something that I would have thought was impossible, had I not felt it coursing through me and firing my blood. She was staring up at me, holding her breath, and biting on her bottom lip, and I marveled over the fact that something so simple could affect me so thoroughly. I leaned down and kissed her, bringing that sweet lip out with the touch of my mouth against hers, and slowly caressed her with my fingertip, reminding myself to go slow, no matter what, because I'd promised her that we would take baby steps, and, besides which, why would I want to rush something that was so perfect, and so right and….?_

"Damn," I whispered, taking care to keep my voice low, even though I was the only one in our little area who'd made it in on time. "You've got to get your mind off of that for right now, you've got to leave it outside the office, where it belongs, otherwise, Collins is liable to make mincemeat out of your bum and then you'll look funny both coming _and_ going."

It wasn't my face that I was referring to when I mentioned the part about coming, and I wasn't talking about that moment when you, well, you _know_, even though doing more of that would certainly help to alleviate the source of what was making me stand out as odd as I met people face-to-face. I couldn't remember another time in my life, not even when I was a teenager, where I had gone around with an erection for the majority of the day, but that was where I found myself now, and I would imagine that I provided an amusing spectacle for all of those who saw me walking about in a bowlegged fashion, with a file folder, my briefcase, or anything else that was handy pressed tight against my crotch, in a futile bid to hide the condition that Frankie left me in morning, noon and night.

_She boldly moved her thighs apart, offering me more room to explore, but I was content to tease her a bit, to caress her and collect the proof of her passion, while avoiding contact with her clitoris. She stared up at me and moaned, then she raised her hips from the countertop in a thrust that had me stroking her from the top, right next to the spot that would drive her crazy, to the bottom, then back again, which made it obvious where it was that she wanted me to touch her, but I waited a few moments longer, until I heard a quiet, almost helpless whimper escape her. That was when I stroked her the way that she wanted, I parted her, very gently, and rubbed my fingertip over her, and that was all that it took, just one little caress, and she went to pieces, crying out my name….._

I'd never been the conceited sort, I'd never felt the need to boast about my abilities. I'd never used a bragging session with the fellows to exaggerate my mechanical abilities, or my athletic accomplishments, and especially not my romantic liaisons or sexual prowess, but this was one morning when I felt like shouting my triumphs to the rafters, at the same time that I wished to hold them close to my heart, my personal secret, the one that only I knew…well, that only Frankie and I knew, that is.

I was supposed to have been hard at work on a report, a rundown on the newest intel from the brothel in Berlin, but I couldn't concentrate on anything, save for my memories of what had transpired in Frankie's kitchen. They were sweet reminiscences, there was no denying that, but it wasn't the most professional thing, to be fantasizing, when I was supposed to be working, especially since said fantasies inspired a familiar awakening to occur in parts of my anatomy, the sort that were very improper in the work place, to say the very least, and I was grateful for the fact that both me and my erection were hidden by my desk.

_It may have been enough for some men, to know that they had been successful in making a woman come the one time, and they would have felt that they'd done all that they needed to and would have proceeded to convince her to repay them in kind, but I wasn't that sort of man. Once was nice, especially since I'd been able to witness each and every tremor as it coursed through her body, but I wanted more than that, I wanted to take off her boxers, and the knickers that were hidden beneath them, not stopping until she was completely naked, and then I would pleasure her again, and see all of her, from her head to her feet. That was what I wanted…so that was exactly what I did._

"Aw, hell," I muttered, leaning back in my chair, and grimacing when my trousers rubbed against me in a way that was both stirring and painful. I plunged my fingers into my hair, not caring that I was mussing my appearance by doing so, and then brought them down slowly, tenting them over my face. How was I supposed to function when I was in this state? It was easy enough, to remember that I had responsibilities that required all of my concentration, but how on earth was I supposed to think about anything other than Frankie? "I might die from this, I might….."

"Aw, come on, buddy, it's not really as bad as all of that, is it?" FDR asked cheerily, breezing into the office, with a Venti in one hand, and an apple fritter in the other. "Of course, I guess it could be, if you just came to your senses and realized that you've been chasing after _Frankenstein_, am I right? I can't understand what it is that makes you tick, I don't know what goes on in that mind of yours, to make you think that you've found something good in _Trent_, when there are so many tasty morsels that you could be nibbling on instead. Have you gone blind, or deaf, or have you just lost all the sensation in your dick, because I, for one, can't understand what it is about _her_ that turns you on."

It took a great deal of effort on my part, as well as a fair amount of self-discipline, to remain in my seat, instead of rising out of it as fast as I possibly could, to wallop him for insulting both me and Frankie. I reminded myself that this was Franklin who was speaking to me, the man who'd been my best mate for many years. I did my damnedest to remember that saying and doing things that he oughtn't were simply part of his personality, and as such I ought to give him a break, as opposed to doing my utmost to rearrange his face. These were things that I kept repeating, over and over, in my head, and the red mist that had crept over my eyes faded, my heartbeat grew slower, and I was able to take a deep breath and get past the notion that taking him apart, piece by piece, was the best thing that I could do.

"Could you explain something to me, Franklin?" I asked softly, knowing that raising my voice would be all the provocation that my temper would need to burst to life once more. "I've always wondered what Frankie could have done, that would make you dislike her so much, but I can't for the life of me, make sense of this change in behavior, and it is a change, as you well know, because though you have always teased her, you were never cruel, not to begin with, so what happened that made you change your mind?"

He glanced away from me, just for a moment, but it was long enough for him to get that look on his face, the one that said that he'd been caught, and that he was ashamed. We'd both teased Frankie from the very beginning, we'd been a pair of idiot brothers for her to learn from, who also got their jollies teasing and tormenting her, but all of that had changed the night that she'd been attacked. I'd fallen in love that night, or, rather, I realized that I'd been that way for some time, and FDR had…..

"You're angry at her for what happened that night, aren't you, Franklin?" I asked, in a tone that was filled with disbelief. "You treat her badly because you're punishing her, isn't that right?"

He wouldn't look at me to begin with, but finally, after several moments had passed, he reluctantly returned his gaze to me. "She should have waited for backup," he said, slamming his breakfast down on his desk, a visual, I suppose, that was intended to underscore the fact that he was cross, just in case I might have missed the telltale signs that I recognized from years of acquaintance that said that he was on the verge of throwing an eppy. "She damn near got herself killed, because she didn't follow procedure, and, even worse than that, you could have died, running in there to save her without me, and you wouldn't have had to do that, if she'd just done what she was supposed to do."

On one hand, his words were touching, because they conveyed his concern not only for me, but for Frankie as well, while, on the other hand, they angered me, because he was finding fault with her for her actions that night, but completely disregarding the mistakes that both he and I had made as rookies. I wouldn't go so far as to say that we'd done anything that directly put anyone's life into danger, but we had certainly done our fair share, and, in his case, _more_ than his fair share, of cocking things up.

"Yes, she should have waited for backup," I agreed, rising to my feet, thankful that our conversation had worked wonders at the seemingly impossible task of holding my lust at bay. "But nothing bad happened to me that night, beyond having to see her lying in the floor of that shower, covered in blood, and thinking, for just a moment, that she was dead. That was the worst moment in my life, mate, bar none, and I was furious at her, for nearly getting herself killed over a rookie's mistake, but that anger fled me when I saw her…"

Months had passed since that night, and yet I still got choked up, because I remembered everything like it had happened just the other day. I would never forget the way that I had yelled her name as I thundered through that house, weapon at the ready. I had been so mad at her, I'd promised myself that I was going to give her the chewing of a lifetime, one that would make those that Collins doled out on a regular basis seem downright tame in comparison, but then I'd heard a sound coming from the loo on the bottom floor, a weak cry that carried easily through the house, which was as silent as a tomb. I'll never forget the feeling of dread that came over me as I ran into that room and flipped on the light, and I'll certainly never be able to lose the memory of her, crumpled on the floor of the shower, naked from the waist up, with blood seeping from all of the….

Aw, shit. The choking feeling in my throat was threatening to turn into an onslaught of emotion that would be humiliating for me to display in front of Franklin. I distracted myself by moving across the floor, to his desk, diving into the task of cleaning up the coffee that had spilled out when he slammed down his cup. At any other time I would have made his clean up the mess himself, but I was happy to do anything that would keep me from giving in to the emotions that were threatening to consume me.

It was no secret that Franklin was one of the most self-absorbed people that I'd ever known, but there were times when he put his selfishness aside and concentrated on someone other than himself, and this was one of those times. He moved toward me and placed his hand on my shoulder, squeezing once, and then he apologized for making a mess and thanked me for cleaning it up for him, which really meant that he understood why I was emotional, and told me that I didn't have to be ashamed.

"I'll tell her that I'm sorry," he said softly, picking up the fritter, which was squashed on one side and tearing it in half. I was a little surprised, and more than a little touched, when he offered me the part that wasn't smashed. "But don't tell her that I'm going to say anything, because I want her to be surprised."

I imagined that _surprised_ was an inadequate descriptive for how Frankie would feel, to say the least, but I kept that opinion to myself. "I won't say a word," I promised, grabbing his coffee, to wash down the pastry, even though I knew that I'd gag, and then shudder with disgust, because he refused to partake of sugar and cream in his morning beverage. "Does this mean that you're going to make an effort to be nice to her from now on?"

He made a face, shook his head and sighed, as if he was deeply depressed. "I suppose that I'll have to, won't I? It's one thing to torment your partner, but something completely different when you're mean to your sister-in-law….."

"Whoa, wait just a minute, what are you talking about, 'sister-in-law'?" I asked, feeling a small amount of fear at the idea of getting married, and, even more, because it didn't really sound like a bad idea, the more that I thought about it.

"Oh, come on, buddy," he said, draining his coffee cup and tossing it across the room, where it bounced off the trash can and toppled to the ground. "I can see the wheels turning in your head, the ones that are churning out pictures of making Franken…err…_Frankie_ your wife, with a little house, the picket fence, and lots of rugrats running around and calling you Daddy. There's only one thing that I need to know before I give you my blessing to proceed."

I rolled my eyes and made my way back to my desk. "And what might that be?"

"Have you given any thought at all to the freakish children the two of you will make? I mean, you're a good-looking guy, well, I mean, you're not really ugly, and Frankie's not bad to look at either, but can you imagine what your kids will look like, once your fish lips DNA meet and mingle with hers?"

Frankie's POV

Dr. Nolan was sitting across from me, looking perfectly calm and cool and collected, just like he always did, and I found myself wondering, for just a moment, if he had any idea at all what it was like to be nervous, or flustered, or disturbed. Was there ever a hair out of place on his head, were his clothes ever wrinkled, or did he just go around, looking perfect and being perfect, at all hours of the day?

I ought to have been put-off by his appearance and his mannerisms, his type always tended to put my teeth on edge, but I couldn't help but like him, and, even more than that, I trusted him, and I felt comfortable with him. That being said, I couldn't help but feel uncomfortable at the notion of bringing up the topic that I needed to discuss today. Maybe it would have been easier, if he was a woman, or if he wasn't so flawless, but it was highly unlikely that he was ever going to be the former, and I was fairly certain that the latter wasn't going to change anytime soon either, so I suppose that I didn't have any choice but to make do with what I had, did I?

"Good morning, Francine," he said, in a tone that was quiet and polite, and a little cordial as well, which was just how he always sounded. "How have you been?"

This was how all of our conversations began, and normally I would have launched into a play-by-play of the past week of my life, but that was not what I wanted to talk about today. There was an instance that needed to be hidden altogether, from him and everyone else in my life, especially Tuck, and I didn't want to run the risk of allowing myself to get too comfortable and possibly spilling my secrets. Maybe it was a good thing that I had an uncomfortable topic to discuss, now that I thought about it, because I was less likely to get relaxed enough to loosen my lips that much, not with all of that residual awkwardness in the air.

"Do you think that it's possible for someone who went through what I did to have a normal sexual relationship?" I blurted out, bypassing the "good morning" and the "just fine, Dr. Nolan, and how are you" that I normally would have offered in response. Damn it. I had rehearsed a speech, from beginning to end, I'd planned and plotted, but all of that had gone right out the window, and now I had one more reason to feel like a fool.

Thankfully, Dr. Nolan recovered from his surprise fairly quickly. Oh, don't get me wrong, I'd definitely caught him off-guard, but it was a fleeting thing, just a second, and then he was back to normal. "I know that Damian Tyler didn't rape you that night, Francine, but his actions violated you none the less, he did things that were abominable, and he left scars upon you, both physically _and_ mentally. That being said, whether or not it is possible for a victim of a violent crime to have a 'normal sexual relationship' is a decision that can only be made by the one who has suffered. Do you think that you could ever be comfortable enough to be intimate with someone in that way, Francine?"

_I was naked; I was completely vulnerable, in more ways than one. I was shaking and gasping and savoring the warmth that followed the orgasm that Tuck had just given me. I looked up at him, waiting for him to lift me off of the island top, to move with me toward the couch, or, maybe even the bed, so that I could make him feel good, but it would seem that he wasn't done just yet. He stared down at me, holding on tightly to my eyes with his own, and then he bent his head and pressed his lips against mine, kissing me with enough passion to make me gasp and arch against him….._

Well, that was just great, now I was flushed, and squirming in my seat, as discreetly as possible, to ease the fluttering ache that had fired to life between my thighs. "Yes, I can do that, Dr. Nolan. I have, _ahem_, had some experiences lately that have shown me that the spark and desire are definitely there, but what if I freak out, once the moment arrives? What are the chances that something like that will happen to me?"

He sat back in his chair and lazily crossed one leg over the other. "It is possible for me to put a percentile on what your chances for a response like that occurring during intercourse are, but I would imagine that your partner, if he knows your history, will understand and he will be patient with you as well. Does he know about what you've been through, Francine?"

_I felt like I was hovering on the edge of a dream, everything around me and in me was dim, aside from the pain, and then suddenly I heard him shouting my name. I tried to call for him to help me, but my voice was weak and I was sure that he hadn't heard me. I started to give in to the need to sleep, I was so tired, and I wanted to get away from the searing pain that was coursing through my body, when suddenly I heard him in the room with me, I heard him say my name in a tone that was choked and filled with fear, and then he was kneeling beside me….._

"Yes, he knows all about it," I said, pushing the memories aside before the tears had time to gather in my eyes. "And he is very understanding and very patient. He's a very special man, Dr. Nolan, and I know that I am a fortunate woman, to have someone like him in my life."

He smiled at me, not a huge beam, but a smile none the less. "You love him, don't you?" he asked softly. "And this isn't a new love either, this is one that has been in your heart for some time, hasn't it?"

I returned his smile with one that felt brighter and wider than his had been. "Ever since I saw him for the first time," I admitted, remembering my first glance of Tuck's eyes, and his smile, and the first feel of his hand, strong and warm and calloused. "I never thought that he would feel the same, he never gave me any indication, not until recently, but now he's mine. He cares for me, and he watches out for me, and, best of all, he accepts me, and I couldn't ask for a better partner."

I thought that I saw something in Dr. Nolan's eyes, a hint of a suspicion, but then it was gone, and he didn't voice it aloud, and I decided that I must have imagined it. "I won't ask for the details of the intimacies that have transpired between the two of you, Francine, but I would like to know if you have shown him your scars."

_I didn't know why I was so self-conscious. After all, he'd seen my scars before they were healed, he saw them when they were open wounds, he'd stripped off his shirt and held it against me, cursing and crying, while he'd struggled to stem the flow of blood from my body. You'd think that I'd be perfectly comfortable, after all of that, with him looking at my scars, but I wasn't…that is, I wasn't, until he traced his fingertips over each reminder of Damian Tyler's knife, one by one, leaving no one out, and then, once he'd touched them with his finger, he used the tip of his tongue. My awkwardness had left me in an instant, replaced by a surge of desire that made me whimper with need. I felt like I was on fire, and the heartbeat deep inside me was fluttering, and I bit back a shout when he switched, back and forth, between licking my scars and then my nipples, until I was moving about on the island top, moaning and groaning and twining his hair around my fingers. I was all set to beg him by that point, to plead with him to touch me down there, to stroke the ache until it exploded, when suddenly, as if he'd read my mind, his hand slipped between my legs and he did just what I'd wanted him to….._

"Francine?"

Dr. Nolan's voice brought me out of my lustful reverie with a start, and I felt my face flaming as a blush took hold of me. I had a feeling that he knew what sort of thoughts had distracted me, and I would have been happy to hide under the table that was resting, covered with vases of fresh flowers and a variety of seashells, against the wall beneath a large coastal still-life, but decided against doing so. Things were already awkward enough as it was, without me scurrying beneath the furniture, and besides which, the odds that the size of my backside would allow me to do so comfortably weren't very good.

"Yes, he has seen my scars, Doctor and he accepted them just fine, he seemed to even, hmm, well, _like_ them, if I had to guess," I said, meeting his eyes, even though it was almost painful to do so. "And he managed to make me, ahem…very comfortable with them as well."


	9. Chapter Nine

Chapter Nine

Frankie's POV

FDR had lost his mind. That was the only explanation that I could come up with for the change in his behavior. Why was he being so nice to me? What did he have planned for me? What were the ulterior motives laying beneath his sudden burst of kindness, and why had he taken me aside so that he could apologize for the way that he'd treated me lately? He still teased me, that much hadn't changed, but it wasn't the mean sort of mocking that I'd hated. He'd gone back to treating me like I was his kid sister instead, which was funny, given that I was older than him, and I appreciated the change, there was no denying that, but I just couldn't understand what had happened that would turn him around so completely.

Most morning briefings would have found him sitting as far away from me as he possibly could, without leaving the room altogether, but that wasn't the case for this one. This morning he insisted that I sit between him and Tuck, and he'd placed a venti shaken sweet tea in one of my hands, and a blueberry scone in the other, just as he'd done before I'd become enemy number one in his eyes, and I immediately shared my breakfast with both him and Tuck, though I couldn't help but glance at him, and wonder if he was alright, the entire time.

We finished quickly and got rid of the evidence that we'd been eating or drinking anything before Collins came into our space, because it was against the rules, that is, it was against _her_ rules, for agents to have food or beverages present during her briefings, and that covered the fifteen minutes before and after she made her appearance. I brushed my hands over my mouth, to ensure that I'd removed any and all traces of my breakfast, and turned to Tuck, to make sure that he'd done the same, and found a smidgen of scone resting next to his bottom lip. I reached out and started to remove it with my thumb, then let loose a quiet squeal that made my face burn from embarrassment when I felt his tongue, soft and warm, as it licked the crumb off of my thumb.

I turned to glance over my shoulder, to see if FDR had noticed what had just happened, and I assumed that he had, because he was smiling, but, shockingly, he didn't say anything about it. He was too busy studying the file folder that Collins had sent ahead of her arrival, the one that we were all supposed to familiarize ourselves with, but I hadn't even looked at mine, and I knew that Tuck hadn't either. I suppose that I ought to have taken a moment to do that, given that the Boss was liable to show up at any moment, but Tuck was distracting me with his tongue. He licked my thumb clean, and then he kissed it, lingeringly teasing me, before he bit me, very gently, and then licked me all over again.

"Hansen! Trent!" Collins shouted, breezing furiously into the room, appearing out of nowhere, just like she always did. "I think that we've had this discussion before, more than once, if memory serves, so would you care to explain why you've disregarded my orders and decided to play grab-ass with one another, even though you knew that doing so would incite my wrath?"

I could feel my face burning as I jumped away from Tuck, and one look at him from the corner of my eye said that he was just as embarrassed as I was, though he hid it better than I did, because his face wasn't the color of a lobster, and I knew that mine was. Collins paced the floor with her hands clasped tightly in the small of her back, pausing every couple of steps, so that she could glare at Tuck, and then at me. This went on for several moments, and then she came to a sudden stop, right in front of Tuck, and faced him, bending over so that her eyes were level with his.

"Well, Hansen, what do you have to say for yourself?" she demanded furiously. "Why can't you keep your hands off of your partner? What is it that makes her so irresistible to you? Can you explain that to me, in words that I can understand, without mentioning anything sexual in nature, hmm?"

He didn't say anything for several moments, and I took his silence to mean that he couldn't think of anything that wasn't about sex in some way, shape or form, but then he cleared his throat and started to speak. "I know that I'm not supposed to touch Frankie, or to want to be with her, but I just can't stay away from her. The need to touch someone is common, when you're first discovering the bond that the two of you share, and if you're very lucky, you'll always feel that need. I can't put into words what it is that I find so irresistible about her, because there are too many things, it would take me hours, and I'm afraid that I would really make you cross if I were to try to….."

"Hansen?"

"Ma'am?"

"I've never heard anything that made me want to vomit more than the sugary sweet crapola that you just dished out!" she thundered, then turned her glare toward me. "But let's see if she can up the ante, shall we? Alright, Agent Trent, same question, and you better not make me any queasier than I already am, do you catch my drift?"

She was furious, and she was looking at me with that glint in her eyes that said that my backside was moments away from a date with the shredder, but what could I possibly say that wouldn't make her angrier than she already was? "He makes me hot, ma'am," I said, matter-of-factly. "I know that I was supposed to avoid an answer that was sexual in nature, but I'm afraid that it's impossible for me to do that. He makes my heart sing and I want him at all hours of the day…would you like me to continue, or should I see about shutting up while I still can, ma'am?"

Hmm…that probably wasn't the sort of response that would get me out of trouble, was it? I could hear stifled snorts of laughter coming from my left, which didn't surprise me at all, but Tuck wasn't making a sound, and I wondered if I'd shocked him with what I'd said. It dawned on me that he might be upset with me, that he might have taken my words to mean that my feelings for him were purely sexual in nature, when there was so much more to them than that…..

"Your answer was somewhat better than his was, Trent," Collins said, lowering her voice to its usual tenor, the one that said that you pissed her off on a regular basis, but you hadn't managed to disgust her just yet, so your ass wasn't in danger of being run through the shredder just yet. "Not by much, mind you, but I don't feel an overwhelming urge to vomit, so I'd say that you were successful, wouldn't you agree?"

I wasn't certain what I ought to say, or if I ought to say anything at all, but she was looking at me, in a way that said that she expected a reply, and I knew that I had to say something, but what was I going to say….?

In the end, FDR bailed me out, though, I was fairly certain that he did so unintentionally. "I always agree with you, Chief, as a matter of principle, and this time is no different, not that I would have expected it to….."

"Foster?"

"Ma'am?"

"Cut the crap!"

"Right away, ma'am, cutting the crap as we speak, and shutting my mouth immediately afterward, which is just what….."

"_Now_, Foster!"

The sudden silence in the room was almost deafening, and then Collins turned her attention back to me, concentrating a blood chilling glare in my direction, then at Tuck, before spreading the censure equally between both of us. "I ought to rake you across the coals," she said menacingly, slowly advancing on us, mayhem alive and well in her eyes…only to stop at the last moment, and smile, a beam that unsettled me more than anything else that she'd done, because it was disconcertingly predatory in nature. "But I'm going to let you off easily this time, because I have a use for what's happening between the two of you, and I'm going to use it to the best advantage of this agency."

Tuck's POV

I'd known that a trip to Berlin was inevitable, it was a given that we would have to immerse ourselves in the seamy underbelly of the beast, if we meant to slay it, but I never, not even in my wildest imaginings, would have envisioned that Collins meant for Frankie and me to be the agents who'd go undercover and become intimate with the illegal actions of Lena Petersen and her cohorts. I'd always assumed that Franklin and I would be the ones who'd be called to the mat and potentially placed into the line of fire, but Collins was choosing to use the intimacy that Frankie and I shared with one another instead, and it filled me with dread, to contemplate what might happen once we were in that world, while, at the same time, I couldn't help but look forward to the _covert operations _that we'd have to perform, in order to solidify our cover.

I really ought to have been infuriated by the suggestion, which really wasn't a suggestion at all, but was in fact an order, that I engage in a faux _relationship_ with Frankie, a fake marriage, to be exact. It seemed that we were supposed to be the adventurous type, a husband and wife who enjoyed firearms and the fast life…and frequenting brothels together. On the upside, I would be sharing a bed with Frankie, on orders from the agency, I would be obliged to convince any and all who might be watching us that my _wife_ and I enjoyed a very exuberant sex life, and I ought to have been thrilled, but, for some reason, I just couldn't get past the notion that this trip was going to be a disaster.

It wasn't that I wasn't looking forward to a little sexual playacting with Frankie, truth be told, that would be one of the easiest, and most enjoyable, services that I'd ever performed for my country, but how was I supposed to forget that we were essentially being pimped out for the good of the agency? Even if we just pretended to make love, wouldn't it still put a blight of sorts, an ugliness, on what we had? How could I allow this to happen, how could I stand back and let Collins….?

I was standing in the corridor that led to the lavatories, lingering beside a closet that was used for the storage of the paper products for said washrooms, which wasn't the ideal place for one to gather their thoughts, but it was the one place where I was safe from Franklin, and his wiseass comments. I couldn't deal with his smirking face at that moment, I didn't have the ability to keep my temper in check, I just wasn't…..

Someone was coming around the corner, and I hoped, with all that I had, that it wasn't FDR. I did my best to prepare myself for him, for the words that would push me past the limit, for that smile that always raised my hackles when it was aimed in my direction. I told myself, over and over again, that I couldn't pummel him, no matter what he said or did, I couldn't allow my anger to get the best of me, but my hands were curling into fists, in spite of all of my directives that they stayed relaxed…so imagine my surprise, and relief, when I saw that it was Frankie, and not Franklin, who was walking toward me.

"I hope that you know that I didn't mean to sound like everything that I feel for you is wrapped up in what is physical," she said, rushing toward me, with an expression that was filled with worry. "I mean, you _do_ make me hot, off the charts, the intensely, kind of insane, sort of fieriness, but that's not all that there is to what I feel….._oomph_."

I pulled her into my arms and kissed her before she could say another word. I had expected her to say something about the mission, I would have thought that the knowledge of what was lying ahead of us would have been at the forefront of her concerns, but she was too busy worrying about whether or not she'd upset me. I suppose that I ought to have known better than to kiss her while we were at work, after all, I knew that I didn't have the strength to stop with after just one taste, but how could I battle my need to do so, when she was so damned irresistible to me?

This was no simple, sweet kiss either. My mouth was ravenous on her, it was filled with all of my desire and my longing for her, and the longer I lingered, the hungrier I became. My tongue swept around her mouth, tasting her and teasing her, and being sampled and seduced in turn. I lifted her in my arms, surging my hips when I felt her stroke across the proof of my growing arousal, and felt a surge of pride when I heard her whimper, only to moan in turn, moments later, when I felt her legs twining around my waist, and the push of her feet against my bum, bringing me close, in a welcoming embrace that encouraged me to rip off her knickers and have my wicked way with her.

I don't know how I managed to remember that we were out in the hallway, on display, you might say, to anyone who wandered past the corridor, or, God forbid, down it, on their way to the loo, but somehow, there was just enough blood left in my brain to realize that we needed to move. I kept a tight hold on her, with both my lips and one of my hands, and struggled to find the doorknob of the closet that was behind me. The storeroom of bog rolls and kitchen towels wasn't the most romantic of settings to engage in a heated moment with Frankie, it wasn't even close, but that was where it was going to happen, and I wasn't inclined to complain, and I didn't think that she would either.

It was a happy coincidence that there was a stack of boxes that was the perfect height to rest Frankie on. I would have loved to have held her the entire time, she felt perfectly lovely as she was, with her bewitching warmth emanating through her trousers, to embrace me and drive me out of my mind, but doing so limited what I could do with my hands, and that didn't suit me at all. I sat her sweetly rounded bum on the top box, and there was a moment of hilarity for both of us when the lid crumpled and gave way, not enough to make her fall, but undoubtedly enough to smash the rolls of toilet paper that were resting right beneath her. We ought to have been concerned, I suppose, about destroying agency property, but I knew that I could have cared less, and I was fairly certain that Frankie didn't either.

"I make you hot," I told her, moving back between her legs, so that I could whisper the words in her ear. "You want me at all hours of the day," I said, then took her earlobe between my teeth, biting her gently, so that she sighed, then a little harder, until she whimpered my name. "But I also make your heart sing…and that means that what you feel for me goes well beyond what is simply physical in nature, doesn't it, my Lovely?"

She drew back away from me and stared into my eyes, and then she put her hands on my head, one on each side, holding me in place, rubbing her thumbs over my cheeks, then across my lips. "Of course it does, baby," she whispered, thrilling me with her touch, and all of the warmth that was in her eyes and her voice, and, especially, with the way that she called me _baby_. "I could never want you and need you the way that I do, if there weren't deeper feelings lying beneath all of that arousal, could I?"

I closed my eyes and shuddered, completely undone by her honesty, and the proof that I wasn't alone in my feelings, and the knowledge that she was right there with me. "Frankie, I….." My voice failed me, and I choked, not because I didn't want to acknowledge my emotions, but because I was overwhelmed and amazed and…dear, God…she was pulling my head down and kissing me in a way that turned me inside out, and her hands were moving down my body, trailing over my chest, to land on the waistband of my trousers, and then she started to unfasten my belt, and…oh, help…then she unbuttoned my fly and pulled down my zipper, then slipped her hand inside.

"Of course, that's not to say that I'm not a tad bit preoccupied with all of that hotness," she murmured, giggling when I reached down and grabbed the hem of my t-shirt, then pulled it, very roughly, off of my body. "And you could say that wanting you around the clock tends to distract me from everything else and leave me throbbing and aching for you," she said, reaching inside my underpants to place her hand on me, and I growled in response while I opened her blouse, and her bra, as quickly as I could, without ripping either garment. "But I am the happiest that I have ever been in all of my life, because everything about you makes my heart sing and smile and soar, and there's nothing that anyone can say, or do, that will ever make that go away."

I tried to stifle the moan that escaped me when I felt her thumb caress the head of my cock, because it was loud and telling, to anyone who might hear it, about what was going on behind the door of this particular storeroom, but it wouldn't be quieted, and in a moment my sound of pleasure was joined by one that I'd brought out of Frankie. I bent to take one of her nipples into my mouth, while my hand carried out a raid on her trousers, one that declared that short work be made of the fastenings on her slacks, so that my fingers could advance into her knickers, and find her warmth and her silkiness, made slick by the dew of her arousal, and I deemed that the mission was a successful one, as soon as I heard her gasp my name, then felt her bite down on my shoulder, to hush the cry that escaped her, as my fingertip found, and wooed, her clitoris.

I wanted to hear her again, I wanted to make her even more breathless and weak in the knees than she already was, and, even more than that, I wanted to join her in that state. I wanted to match the rhythm of my caresses to the ones that she was delivering to me, so that we would move as one, toward release, to feel the soft slide of her palm as she stroked me closer and closer to that moment. I wanted to close my eyes, to bite my bottom lip to quiet my groans, the ones that grew louder and louder, until I felt her mouth on mine, so that we could kiss our way through the shouts and the shudders and the desperate cries of release…and that was exactly what I did.


End file.
